The Wheel of Analytical Meditation - Ch4 Egolessness

 

We finally come to the last topic of investigation, which is the absence of an entity or the lack of essence in anything. Through the three previous analyses we have gained the certainty that the five composite aggregates have the nature of multiplicity, impermanence and suffering. Naturally this leads to the following question: Who am I? What is that that we call 'I'? We can repeat the previous sequence of meditation exercises, but this time concentrating on that question.

Refresh your understanding of the composite nature of all outer and inner phenomena, body and mind, and try to find an entity that could be pinpointed as 'I'. Then, see everything flowing, always changing like a waterfall or a river. The world appears as a field of vibrations and changing colours without any essence. Let things flow by in his way and rest your mind in that understanding. Finally, remembering that suffering pervades the whole of existence, realize that the notion of an independent and permanent self is absurd: either that self would be by nature suffering or it would be totally disconnected from the aggregates, in which case it would not feel or perceive anything.

In this way, through the contemplation of the composite nature of things, impermanence and suffering, we come to realize that things do not have the solid, concrete existence they seem to have. Through these meditations the arrogance of being an individual entity, the concept of 'I', vanishes. We understand that an entity, a person or a self is untenable, lacking any inherent existence. When there is clarity, the eye sees that the rope is a rope and not a snake; in the same way, the eye of wisdom sees that the continuum of particles and instants of the composite aggregates are conceived as an entity only when they are not properly examined and analysed.

The purpose of this meditation is to understand that this 'I' is not so real and serious as we think. This is the basis of the entire process of spiritual development. Without understanding this a little, we don't really understand any other practice. No matter how 'advanced' our practices may be, if we do not understand this central point, we miss the purpose.

Understanding egolessness, the absence of a self-entity, is not something beyond our scope. When we hear the word 'egolessness', it seems something we cannot even hope to understand. But we do not have to be very special or very clever in order to understand it. We can all understand it, at least in some measure. And this understanding is very useful; it is not just an idea. We can experience it through meditation and remember it afterwards any time, when facing problems. It is practical and within our reach. At the same time, it is the very foundation of both Mahayana and Vajrayana. If we want to develop authentic compassion or practise a Vajrayana sadhana, if we don't have a minimum understanding of this absence of a self, we will not be practising correctly.

Understanding egolessness or emptiness of the individual entity is not like jumping into some dark, deep pit, or like destroying ourselves. People often wonder how they could go on living without 'I'. But, actually, it is not a matter of annihilating anything or of adopting a nihilistic attitude. In fact, it is the opposite: it is clarity, it makes more sense to be alive, life is much lighter and more interesting, because we do not make a big deal out of things.

Compared to the infinity of space, the 'I' is very tiny. When we consider the 'I' as something very real, we think of us as independent individuals separate from the rest of the world. Thinking of us as individuals is like living enclosed in a very small house with very thick walls. If we are separate, we are bound to feel lonely. In our little cage we are isolated and there is no space for others; there are frictions, conflicts, and a feeling of things not making sense or of being lost. And there is fear because we are so small and vulnerable.

On the contrary, if there is no 'I', there is no independent self. Absence of a self means the interdependence of everything: understanding that we are part of everything else. Therefore, there is no feeling of separation, no loneliness, no friction, no fear of what is 'other'; and there is plenty of room for everybody. In other words, there is compassion. That is the idea. Emptiness of self-entity really means plenitude: absence of walls. When one experiences emptiness, one feels great expansion and happiness. There is no more feeling of lacking anything. Indeed, the stronger the 'I', the more things we miss.

What Mipham calls having an inadequate frame of mind is like living all the time with a mask. Imagine that somebody forces you to wear a mask and to pretend you are that other person. You will spend your life trying to correspond to that image that is not really you, pretending you are someone else. Maybe the character you have to play is beyond your capacities; nevertheless, you have to match that idea you have about yourself, and you can never be naturally who you really are. You have to hide anything that does not correspond to that image, and this generates so many conflicts, so much inner pain. If you could take off the mask and relax, how relieved you would feel to be just yourself! We are wearing all the time the mask of our preconceptions about who we are: "I am this", "I am that", or simply "I am".

When we gain some understanding of the non-existence of this 'I', it will be like taking off the mask and showing our true face, returning to a natural state. We will not have to achieve anything any more. This is what understanding of egolessness means. It is not a matter of negating or suppressing us, but just eliminating a mistake. It is being free, and it is being what we are. Then we will have dropped the burden (as some sutras say) and we will breath out a sigh of relief. That is nirvana: to "exhale".
Generally, when we say "I", we are not very sure what we mean by that. Is it some part of our body or our mind? It is just a word we use to define a whole complex of factors and experiences. But usually we do not realize this. Eliminating the idea of an 'I' actually means eliminating an erroneous conception.

Realising egolessness does not change anything. It does not change the world. It is just returning to what is natural, without either fabricating something new or destroying anything. It is being who we are without having distorted ideas about ourselves and the world. In other words, the purpose of this meditation is to eliminate our distorted perceptions and states of mind.

Realization of egolessness dissolves all attachment; one becomes free from all bounds. One drops and gives back to nature, so to say, all what we had mistakenly conceived as 'ours', and for which suffering has been our punishment. We drop the burden that we carried and that kept us sunk in samsara, and we become limitless. By letting go of everything we become everything.

It is important to understand that this realization of egolessness is the goal, the purpose of all our practices. Then we know where the path is. If we do not understand this, we are confused, no matter what we practise. We may recite mantras and prayers, practise this and that, but it will not work; it will not help us find a solution and flow with the problems we experience in our lives because we have forgotten the main point; we have lost the path. That is why many teachings say that the only true sign that our Dharma practice is progressing is that the ego diminishes. If we don't gain more space, enabling us to better accommodate the world we experience around, we are not making any progress.

The path and the goal are, in fact, the same. The goal is not something we have to reach some day. It is nothing else than the path itself when it becomes all pervading. To achieve that, first we have to manage to make a little hole through the walls of our ego using the tools of meditation. At that moment we clearly see the path. After that, it is a matter of widening our vision. The path starts as a narrow track, then it becomes wider and wider, and finally, it is all pervading. First we understand the absence of I; then we understand the emptiness of everything; finally we fully understand the nature of that emptiness.

On another hand, this understanding of egolessness is not in conflict with other practices. It is not just another practice on top of all the others; it is rather the very basis of all practices: it helps us understand the actual meaning of all of them. For example, if we do a Yidam practice without some understanding of egolessness, then 'we are there', and on top of us there is the deity: obviously, this is very complicated! Egolessness, on the other hand, creates more space in our minds. If we are more spacious, everything can fit in; there is no conflict. But if we always think, "'I' am meditating", "'I' am visualising", many complications arise. We do not know where 'we' fit in those visualisations.

The world, or in other words samsara, is the five aggregates; and this method of vipashyana meditation is like a hammer and chisel to help us start knocking down the walls. So let's see how the previous meditation exercises can lead to an understanding of egolessness.

First, examine the five aggregates again, one by one. See that the material world is nothing more than a collection of particles without any substantial essence. In a similar way, there is a multiplicity of things going on in our minds: eighteen different types of feelings, all the variety of labels we put on the things we perceive, all kinds of reactions and the different consciousnesses organising the whole bulk of information. We can't find any essence or entity in any of the five. Even consciousness, as we saw, is composite and impermanent, so there is nothing that can be identified as independently existing.

When you finally reach that awareness, rest in that understanding, not reacting to feelings, not putting labels on things, not letting your mind follow any impulse or activity; realising that all these things happening in your mind are not very serious. You have analysed all that was to be analysed, and found that nothing is reliable. There is a sensory experience of a physical body; there are perceptions, there are feelings, there is a continuation of mental events and of different aspects of consciousness; but there is no one inhabiting or owning the body, no person perceiving, feeling or being conscious.

Now examine again the impermanence of all things. Everything changes moment by moment, like the flow of a river. A river is born in a spring, goes through different changes, adopts different shapes and appearances and it flows down to the sea. All along we consider it as the same river. But if at any particular point we could take out all the water with many buckets and search for the river itself, apart from the drops of water we would never find it. There is no entity that is the same all along its journey.
Let us take the seasons as an example. Winter is supposed to last three months; then, spring comes, followed by summer, and so on. However, is there actually anything we can call winter? Where is the winter? When does it start? When does it end? What we call winter is a constant change. And what happens when winter finishes? When does spring start? Apart from a mere conceptual convention, is there any real starting point we can identify? In this way, we see that there is no such thing as 'winter', 'summer' and 'spring'. They are just names applied to a process of change, without anything that is actually changing.

Let us take another example: the waves we can see in a field of wheat. The stalks move with the wind and they look like waves moving from one side to the other. However, apart from the individual stalks, there is no 'wave', no moving entity; there is only movement. It is the same with the waves of the sea: it looks as if a wave is shifting, but in fact, there is only an undulation of drops of water.

Our own lives can be compared to these examples. Once we were little babies, who later became little children, then young people, then transformed into adults and finally will become old people. We usually think that the same person, named 'such and such', went through this evolution; but in fact there is no identity. There is only a complex process of change happening continuously from birth to death. Our life is just a wave of change, without any essence that would permanently be present as the subject of that change. The concept of a permanent self is an illusion.

The five aggregates are equally impermanent; therefore, they are empty of a self. Usually we consider that "I can touch my body; I feel; I think… therefore I am". But according to Buddhism, "I think, therefore I am not there!" Because thoughts are so impermanent, so fleeting. So we say that there are thoughts, but no thinker, there are feelings, but no one who feels; there is life, but no one living.

Be aware of feelings without the notion that 'you' feel this and that; or that they are 'your' feelings; or that they are happening to 'you'. Be aware that they are just an unceasing stream of flashing mental events, coming from nowhere and going nowhere, without referring to a subjective self. In the same way, be aware of every other mental factor without identifying them with a self or as 'yours'. Now just rest your mind without any focus, being aware of this truth, and remain uninvolved with any feeling, any concept, any reaction, any phenomena outside or inside.

Our understanding of impermanence leads to a very practical conclusion, which is that sometime we will die. We do not know when death will come; we can never be sure: it could happen tomorrow, even today, or may be within forty years. Nevertheless, we can be sure that it will definitely happen. What is death exactly? How can we relate to it?

If we analyse it, death can be defined as the cessation of a particular body-mind complex. Our body and our mental factors make up a very complex organism that will stop functioning one day. That is what we call death. After our death, all the elements that are now connected forming an organism will fall apart. What are the causes of death? Why do we have to die? It is very important to understand that the cause of death is not something that happens one particular day, at one particular moment, but it is intrinsic to our own being, to our own creation. Birth is the very cause of death, in the same way that every moment is the cause of the next one. We are a compound, an aggregation of many elements and factors. Since all these are in a constant process of change, they are connected to one another by links that are changing continuously. One day, these links are severed, and that is what we call "death". It is not due to one particular accident or event in our life, but it is rather embedded in our own birth. We can say that our birth is the beginning of our death, because whatever is composite will disintegrate and come to its end.

However, death is actually something that is happening all the time. Everything is changing every moment. There is not one cell in our body that remains the same from one minute to the next. We are continuously leaving everything behind: death happens moment by moment. If there is no self-entity that remains the same during our life, there is no one who dies. Death is just another change. And the stream of changing experiences continues unceasingly, after death as well as before.

When we can come to understand death in this way through practice, we realize that death is not necessarily something bad, but can be a liberating experience. This is very profound, because we realize that death is always here. It is the essence of life. Often, we have the idea that when life ends, death begins. Life and death seem to be two opposed and unreconcilable phenomena like day and night. But, if life really exists, how could it ever stop existing? And how could death start out of life, being its opposite?

Death is necessary for life: every moment, something dies in order to make possible the appearance of a new manifestation. Actually, death is the basis of life, like space. It is what makes change possible. If there were no death, nothing would change; things would be static. Life and death are inseparable. We cannot identify death as something definite; it is just space made manifest when a compound disintegrates, when all the elements fall apart. The true nature of death is emptiness, the emptiness of space in which things can continuously manifest, in new forms, taking different aspects.

The essence of death is the clear emptiness of the mind, and the essence of life is impermanence. What we call 'life' is the state of constant change of destructible phenomena. That is why in some vajrayana practices we are simultaneously praying for life and for primordial wisdom. They are one and the same thing. When the mind remains within its own essence that is primordial wisdom - the space in which everything happens- that is real life. When the mind is attached to impermanent phenomena as if they were real, that is really like being dead.

We fear death because we are ignorant of who we are. We think that death is the disappearance of our self-entity, to which we are attached; that is why we have fear. We identify with our body, our name, and our personality, with our beloved and with our possessions. We identify with impermanent compounds that are fleeting and unreal. And of course, to maintain them is impossible. That is why we have fear.

Essentially we are the immutable, indestructible primordial wisdom that never changes and is full of life and qualities; but since we do not recognise it and do not identify with it, we are afraid of death. The real cause of the suffering and distress we experience as a result of death is attachment, our involvement with illusory phenomena. When we think of dying, we view it as falling into a dark abyss. We are terrified to lose our body, to leave behind all the things that belonged to us, all the people that were dear to our heart. We feel naked and completely lost. However, if we recognise that all things are composite and impermanent, and that underneath these constant transformations and lack of essence there is an indestructible state of spacious clarity, which is actually the true nature of our own mind, and if we cultivate this understanding during our life, death will no longer frighten us. Death is actually the moment in which this basic mind, this clarity and wisdom that is our ultimate refuge is revealed.

In Vajrayana, it is said that, for the excellent practitioner, death is the moment of liberation, because as all the gross elements disintegrate, the essence becomes manifest. At the moment of death, the clear light of primordial wisdom is fully present, and if we can recognise it, we can reach enlightenment -the ultimate refuge- and immortality. We are free. So, the meaning of egolessness is not extinction, but immortality.

Our ignorant vision of death is a misconception that is the ground of all other fears: fear of disappearing, of losing something, of becoming 'less'. These fears are all related to the fear of death, which is based on a misunderstanding. Practice and meditation should ideally turn this misunderstanding round. Our fear should disappear, and we should realize that what we call death is actually real life, whereas what we call existence is just an illusion.

We can meditate on that in the following way. Remember your life: how you were, physically and mentally, yesterday, one year ago, ten years ago, and so on, until you reach childhood. After this, follow the changes you underwent from the past to the present. This gives you a panoramic view of all the transformations you went through. When you reach the present, think of the future and see how all the problems and worries you have today will just be memories next year. Imagine yourself getting old and sick and finally understand that this conditioned existence cannot be maintained and that you are powerless in the face of death. Try to really feel the moment of death and to understand that it is futile to feel attached to people, places and things, because one day you will have to abandon them all. Remain for a while with this understanding.

Next, imagine what will happen after you die. See your body getting rigid, then decomposing, smelling bad, turning to rotten flesh, to bones that are scattered and finally to dust. Although your body is disintegrating, you may still be experiencing mental states, but they are all unstable and intangible. In a way, they are also unreal and disintegrating. When there is nothing left, remain within this understanding of emptiness and come to be aware that the naked essence of your mind is your real identity, the real life, and your real refuge.

That is the essence of the meditation. At the same time, realize that this state of mind is always present: it is actually what we are experiencing now. Training in this understanding is one of the best ways to prepare us for the moment of death.

Some people find these meditations very arid; they may seem nihilistic to them. They think we are trying to destroy things, to eliminate them by saying nothing is real, nothing matters, there is nothing really existing. We have to insist again and again that this is not the case, that we are not destroying or trying to eliminate anything. Neither - and this is also very important - are we trying to escape to some other realm, be it nirvana or anywhere else. Through this meditation, we leave everything exactly as it is. The only thing that changes is how we comprehend things: we now see them as they are, not as they appear. We understand their hollow nature. Even though we appear to be 'somebody', the fact is that we are not anybody. Even though the self seems to be there, actually there is no such thing as a self. We have to admit that this is how things really are, that this is the truth.

At the end of each meditation, when you reach the conclusion that there isn't anything solid, anything that has an essence, rest the mind in that understanding. Some people wonder what we rest the mind in if there is nothing with an essence. We rest in the truth. It has no name. If we were to put a name on it, we would again fabricate something artificial. Although it has no name, we can still refer to it by calling it the truth, because all other things are merely relative. That truth is sometimes called 'emptiness' in Buddhism. (But we need to remember that the four topics we have studied here are intended to lead specifically to an understanding of the emptiness of the individual self, which is only the first part of the complete Buddhist teaching of emptiness.)

The mind remains without any ideas, without any reference point, but at the same time it remains clear. One is awake, but free from any grasping. That is what we call 'the truth', 'emptiness' or 'the Dharma'. Actually, that emptiness is the essence of Dharma. That state of realization is the path, what we have to cultivate, make stable and rest upon. That path leads to Enlightenment, the state of Buddhahood; it is the real refuge. That state is like the beginning or the basis of the path, the ground from which all the qualities of Enlightenment grow. As the understanding of it deepens, it can also be called Prajnaparamita, the Mother of all the Buddhas, because all the Buddhas nurture their minds within that state.



Conclusion


We could divide all the different methods of investigation we have seen in thirteen meditation subjects:

Five for the composite nature of things:
three related to the body (parts and substances, interdependence and elements and particles);
one related to the mind, taking the four mental aggregates together as one object of meditation;
one related to the eighteen elements and the subjectivity of perception.

Three for impermanence: outer, inner and momentary.

Three for suffering: obvious, change and inherent.

Two for egolessness:

as a result of the composite nature and of the impermanence of the five aggregates.

We could also, as an alternative, analyse first the composite and impermanent nature of the body and secondly the composite and impermanent nature of the mental aggregates. We can also add the contemplation of egolessness in relation to death as a third separate topic of meditation. If we do that, altogether we will have fourteen topics.

It can be very good to train first on each one of these gradually and systematically, for example one week for each, completing the program in about three months. In between sessions try to maintain and develop the understanding of the corresponding subject of meditation analysing body and mind. After that, we should keep practising without necessarily following a systematic order, but analysing all the time everything in whatever way is appropriate.

In his commentary Mipham Rinpoche says that the understanding of the fourth topic is supposed to happen naturally through properly analysing the three previous ones. When you gain some understanding, maintain the certainty of the absence of entity until it vanishes. When thoughts start moving again, don't let them take over your mind, but analyse again the multiplicity, the impermanence and the suffering nature of the five aggregates, and gain certainty of each of these objects of meditation. Sometimes examine your own aggregates; other times, the aggregates of others; still, other times, the totality of composite phenomena in general. Apply yourself to whatever you feel inclined.

After sessions, try to apply uninterruptedly these various ways of analysing things, continuously turning round this wheel of analytical meditation. Concentrate on whatever aspect gives you the deepest understanding, be it death, suffering or the composite nature of things, without letting other useless thoughts occupy your mind. Through any one of these characteristics, you can come to understand all the others. Understand that everything is unreal and that beyond appearances there is only the absolute space of your mind, which is the real truth.

Try to use these methods as often as possible, especially when encountering difficult situations: whenever you feel strong attachment and desire, strong aversion, jealousy or pride, or when things become 'too real' or too overwhelming. Through these methods, mentally dismantle things and escape their grip, or rather your own grasping at them.

In the text, the practice of these methods is compared to a fire in the prairie, fanned by the wind of mental examination: the fire of understanding spreads very quickly, burning all confusion and negativity, leaving only the peace of open space.

At times, when the mind is weary, don't think of anything. Just relax, as in a state of astonishment. When discursive activity reappears, apply your mental energy to these examinations again and again, without wavering to meaningless thoughts. Committing yourself to this, a very powerful certainty will arise without effort. Practising like this even when the mind is unoccupied between sessions you will realize a great meaning.


Epilogue

I believe and hope that this teaching can bring immense benefit to anybody who practises it, including myself. Each of the four topics can be practised for about three weeks, altogether covering a period of three or four months; but of course this does not mean that one has finished with it. All we will have done is to familiarise ourselves with it. Afterwards, we should try to stabilise our understanding and develop the capacity to rest our mind in that understanding. In fact, it is a practice to be cultivated and perfected during our lifetime.