Obstacles to Practice: Doubt

The obstacles to becoming an adept yogi are sleep, laziness and disease. One has to remove these by the root and throw them away … Asana will help all this. To acquire this skill, recite the following slokam every day before practicing yoga.  Yoga Makaranda (II.3)

maṇi bhrātphaṇā sahasravighṛtaviśvaṁ
bharā maṇḍalāyānantāya nāgarājāya namaḥ

Salutations to the king of the Nagas,
to the infinite, to the bearer of the mandala,
who spreads out the universe with thousands
of hooded heads, set with blazing, effulgent jewels.
(Listen to Richard Freeman chanting.)

In Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras (I.30) there are nine obstacles to the practice listed.

 

doubt negativeDoubt – sanshaya

Lacking conviction or confidence, distrust, and fear, are among a few of the definitions of “doubt” that make it pretty clear why it tops the list of Patanjali’s obstacles in the third position.  However, the other definition that is found most in tandem with these less positive ones revolves around uncertainty.   It is that definition family that gives rise to sentiments like Paul Tillich’s “Doubt isn’t the opposite of faith, it is an element of faith.” Or Volataire’s, “Doubt is an uncomfortable condition, but certainty is a ridiculous one.” Or doubt being one of three great qualities in Buddhism: Great Doubt, Great Faith, and Great Determination.

Doubt is the factor that allows us to drop how and what we’ve pre-decided about people and situations.  It grants us freedom to respond to what is, freedom from having to know, freedom not to need to make up our mind about what’s happening right now – to be alive and open to what is.

Two Doubts

Doubt can function in our practice in two ways; one is as a general mood of open inquiry – of a cultivated uncertainty that keeps us awake to the moment. The second is one of critical inquiry that takes a teaching we’ve read or seen and begins to turn it into something we experiment with and experience for ourselves.  The results of any teaching reveal its worth.

Stephen Batchelor describes the first kind of doubt in his book, “Confessions of a Buddhist Atheist”;

“When the retreat began and I started meditating in earnest on the question “What is this?” my mind insisted on coming up with clever answers.  Each time I tried to discuss my latest theory with Kusan Sunim, he would listen patiently for a while, then give a short laugh and say: “Bopchon [my Korean name]. Do you know what it is? No? Then go back and sit.”

Irrespective of how suitably enigmatic they seemed, my answers were either trite or predictable. After a while, I simply gave up trying to find an answer. “What is this?” is an impossible question: it is designed to short –circuit the brain’s answer-giving habit and leave you in a state of serene puzzlement. This doubt, or “perplexity” as I preferred to call it, then slowly starts to infuse one’s consciousness as a whole.  Rather than struggling with the words of the question, one settles into a mood of quiet focused astonishment, in which one simply waits and listens in the pregnant silence that follows the fading of the words.”

We can offer this type of listening to our experiences in nature, in relationship, in our meditation and yoga practices.   We can be free from what we think is happening, right in the middle of it happening. Not that we erase our memory, or don’t have ideas, but that we can drop the teacher, you can say to yourself “neti neti” – not this not this, and practice the freedom from knowing.

“Doubting has immense power. It allows us to remain curious and to consider multiple alternative perspectives.  This is deeply important because as soon as we think we understand something, we stop paying attention.  We then miss the truth about it because nothing is ever as simple as our minds try to make them.  Once we think we think we have the answer, we stop questioning.   Once we understand something, we grow bored with it.” Sangha member at ID Project

doubt inquiryRilke writes of the second kind of doubt; “And your doubt can become a good quality if you train it. It must become knowing, it must become criticism. Ask it, whenever it wants to spoil something for you, why something is ugly, demand proofs from it, test it, and you will find it perhaps bewildered and embarrassed, perhaps also protesting. But don’t give in, insist on arguments, and act in this way, attentive and persistent, every single time, and the day will come when, instead of being a destroyer, it will become one of your best workers–perhaps the most intelligent of all the ones that are building your life.”

Here Rilke gives us advice on what to do when doubt arises, as if seemingly on its own.  How to allow it to be a harbinger of investigation.  While not recommended as how to work in the midst of a meditation or yoga practice, later reflection on doubts that arise from practice or elsewhere would be a powerful way to cultivate great doubt in our lives.

A paper by Robert M Baird on Creative Doubt looks at that second type of doubt from a more proactive lens – to take on the task of actively doubting.  The online abstract opens with this story:

“A college student approached his professor after class. With anguish he complained, “I don’t know whether you know it or not, but this class is painful.” “How’s that?” the professor asked. “Well,” the student continued, “you have convinced me that we ought to do what you are encouraging us to do, but when I do what you suggest, it’s so painful.”

What had this professor suggested? What had he encouraged his students to do, the doing of which created, in at least one student, pain? He had encouraged them to doubt creatively. That is, he had encouraged his students to challenge and evaluate the fundamental values – ethical, political, and religious – to which they were committed.”

Follow this source link for further information about the paper, as well as the complete abstract which presents his four arguments for the benefits of creative doubt.

Whether Rilke or Baird, Batchelor, or the Buddha, there is a strong tradition for actively cultivating skillful doubt in our lives.  Can you imagine undertaking one of these practices for a month? What happens? What shifts?

Small doubt, small enlightenment; big doubt, big enlightenment – Zen Master Nine Mountains

Obstacles to Practice: Apathy

The obstacles to becoming an adept yogi are sleep, laziness and disease. One has to remove these by the root and throw them away … Asana will help all this. To acquire this skill, recite the following slokam every day before practicing yoga.  Yoga Makaranda (II.3)

maṇi bhrātphaṇā sahasravighṛtaviśvaṁ
bharā maṇḍalāyānantāya nāgarājāya namaḥ

Salutations to the king of the Nagas,
to the infinite, to the bearer of the mandala,
who spreads out the universe with thousands
of hooded heads, set with blazing, effulgent jewels.
(Listen to Richard Freeman chanting.)

In Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras (I.30) there are nine obstacles to the practice listed.

Apathy (styana)

Have you ever had a limited time to live somewhere? A month, a year?  Have you been a new parent, or gone back to graduate school? Have you had limited time with someone?

Limited time naturally preempts apathy. If we have just two hours in a day to study, we study with all we’ve got for those two hours. If we have just one week in a place, we don’t sit at home and watch TV.  We’ve all experienced time at work in our lives in this way.

time

Working with the obstacle of apathy asks us to look at how we experience time in our daily lives and practice.  We can all be anxious about time and feel as though there’s never enough. And we can all slip into the apathy-inducing illusion of seemingly limitless time.  Different tonics need to be applied at different times.  I had a period of meditation where I would sit with a lot of self-induced stress to really focus this time, and eventually I needed to remind myself that I have (hopefully) years of practice ahead of me.  This provided much needed relaxing around my sitting practice.  I have also had periods where the everydayness of meditation and asana made it seem as if I had so much time that apathy crept in.

Usually in my classes, I encourage students to be expansive with how we consider practice; that it expands way beyond this one person, this one mat, this one row, this one room, community, family, borough, and onwards.

Consider the next time you sit or step onto your mat, especially if you’ve noticed overtones of apathy coming in, to imagine that this was it. That you had to go through a whole week of constant story-telling, of the mind continually on and leading you around, of living habits of action crafted over decades. What if this was the one 10 or 20 or 30 or 90 minute period you had to drop all of that, let the mind relax into quiet with the breath, and let the heart expand with its loving kindness for all the body’s cells, and blood, and those of all beings? To be really intimate with this experience moment to moment to moment? What happens?

Our time

When we don’t experience our time as fully as we know or sense to be possible, it often causes discomfort during time with others. Those feelings of wishing we were in some different place, or with some different people, or had a chance to be alone again can easily creep in.  I knew there was a chance of this when I recently went upstate to the cabin I take many solo retreats in.  This time, my family was going to be there.  I knew that I was going to have about an hour in the woods to myself.  That would be all the time I had to really drop into the nourishing and inspiring retreat feeling of the cabin experience. Since I had prepared, I found that not only could I be fully with the joy of my family without regretting the lack of solo time, but that hour in the woods was more continuous and more quickly accessible than when I go by myself.

Thich Nhat Hanh offers a beautiful story at the start of his book, Miracle of Mindfulness , from his friend Allen. It takes this work a whole step deeper in how we work with “our time”.  Thich Nhat Hanh has just asked Allen about his experience as a family man;

  “I’ve discovered a way to have a lot more time. In the past, I used to look at my time as if it were divided into several parts. One part I reserved for Joey, another part was for Sue, another part to help with Ana, another part for household work.  The time left over I considered my own.  I could read, write, do research, go for walks.

But now I try not to divide my time into parts anymore.  I consider my time with Joey and Sue as my own time. When I help Joey  with his homework, I try to find ways of seeing his time as my own time.  I go through his lesson with him, sharing his presence and finding ways to be interested in what we do during that time. The time for him becomes my own time. The same with Sue. The remarkable thing is that now i Have unlimited time for myself!”

Nothing left out. Nothing squandered.

Chant

life and death are of supreme importance.
time passes swiftly and opportunity is lost.
let us awaken. awaken!
do not squander your life.

may all beings be happy.
may all beings be healthy.
may all beings be safe and free from danger.
may all beings be free from their ancient and twisted karma.
may all beings be free from every form of suffering.

 

 

 

 

Maha Mrtyunjaya Mantra ~ Moksha Mantra

Om tryambakam yajamahe / sugandhim pushti-vardhanam / urvarukam iva bandhanan / mrtyor mukshiya mamrtat swaha *

We worship the supreme light, the Absolute Shiva, who has three eyes, who is fragrant and nourishes all beings.  This light is the expression and communication of our life, and it is our physical, mental and spiritual radiation and prosperity.  Kindly release us from all calamities, bondage and suffering, just as the cucumber is released from its stalk, without any injury. May our minds be absorbed into Shiva, amrtam (nectar), the ocean of tranquility.
(Shukla-Yajur Veda, translation by Shri Brahmananda Sarasvati)

Often called the Moksha Mantra, the Maha Mrtyunjaya Mantra is considered the yogi “birthday” song, a powerful healing mantra, and representing the development of freedom that is the path of yoga.  With its reference to Shiva, cucumbers, and nectar of the gods, the translation and commentary of this chant can seem unclear, obscure, or even worse, irrelevant.

Focusing on the last two lines, we can uncover a clear, direct message on how to work towards freedom (moksha) both on and off the mat.

The metaphor of the cucumber (urvarukam) addresses the manner in which a yogi moves towards freedom or enlightenment.  The cucumber’s path toward ripeness is one of action and work, filled with influences from the natural world and the variety of forces and people around and within it, just as is necessary for our own growth. There comes a point, however, where grace takes over, and there is an effortless falling away. When a cucumber is ripe, it will drop from the vine.  After this natural falling away, it will appear completely whole, without any sign of separation on either end – no stem mark or scar.  The cucumber does not still yearn for the vine.  It is as if there never even was a vine. It is whole, complete, just as it is. Just as we are, and through effort and grace, we experience it.

One of my early teachers used to tell us “there is no force in yoga” when the class had gotten particularly carried away with trying to “do” yoga, or achieve a certain outward form of a pose.  She guided us back from the tendency to push, to effort, into yoga. This is, in effect, what the Moksha Mantra is doing.

So how do we realistically work with the balance of effort and grace? How to we emulate the cucumber?

I like to think of the idea of life as the Self arraying itself.  The timeless, formless, free of suffering innate Self within us is in the constant play of dressing itSelf in the clothes of the self.  We dress ourselves in enough layers to survive Arctic winters.  We are dressed in our names, our preferences, our identities, our emotions, our habits, our speech patterns, method of commuting, career, yoga style, outward appearances, neighborhoods, and anything else that describes us. Each of these is another tank-top, pair of jeans, socks, long-sleeved shirt that we, most of the time, identify as our nature, who we are.

Our work, our effort, is to experience our identity as layers that we wrap around our Self. To sit with eyes closed, to walk down the street eyes wide open, to fall asleep, to converse with others feeling the nakedness of the Self under all the layers we operate under. And we do this as many times, as often as we can. Every choice we make is either a movement towards reinforcing the self or moving towards the Self.  Even the way we practice asana. It is not enough to show up. Make choices that uncover. Yoga is the process and development of this uncovering.  Yogis are given multiple tools (when in doubt, come back to the breath – be aware of a full inhale, a full exhale, repeat). Use them, constantly, continuously, for a long time.

We then take it one step further. We imagine all those layers dropping, falling away, sliding down to the floor.  We stand, sit, lay there naked of the arrayment of the Self, and exist as the Self.  That falling away occurs with grace, as a direct result of the repeated work of understanding the nature of the Self/self.  As the clothes drop to the floor, we fall off the stalk, fully ripe, bearing no mark from our attachment to those layers of self.  There is no force in this final act. We can not strip ourselves of our identity and layers. There is only a natural falling away.

The chant ends with swaha, which simply means “let go” or “I offer it up”.  It lies at all points on the path; to confront/sit with what arises and let go. To get a sense of this, rest in child’s pose with your palms face up.  Bring to mind that thing that happened earlier today, and imagine it flowing out through the palms of your hands, swaha.  Then bring to mind that disappointment from last week, that worry of tomorrow, that recent success, that reason you smiled today, each one, let go. Offer it up through your hands, swaha. Empty out. As you empty out, notice how you do not feel empty. This is your Self, your true nakedness.  As you become established in this, take swaha with you when you go shopping and your favorite food is not in stock. Take it with you to yoga class when you finally balance in an inversion in the center of the room, swaha.  Even the desire for enlightenment, swaha.

In the end, this is Siva’s chant, the first yogi.  Starting with him, yogis have always been the wild ones.  Be wild. Be brazen. Be naked.

*To hear this chanted, I recommend listening to Manorama’s version on her album “Awaken Fire”.

*Refer to tao te ching #48, for another look at this idea