The Illumination Of The Mind Has Ebbs And Flows

There is a dark side to becoming more mindful. 

Thankfully, this is often a necessary part of the process, and ultimately leads to a wise view of yourself and the world. 

Seeing The Light Before Seeing The Dark

I remember my first silent retreat well. Spending four days in silent meditation gave me access to a part of my mind that I had only occasionally glimpsed, and I was hooked. This quiet time in nature away from life’s complications was the slap in the face I needed to wake up, to see the mechanisms of reactivity at play, to see that there was another more accurate way of interacting with the environment. The world need not be viewed through a veil of associations; each moment, and the ensuing mental gymnastics of the mind, could be greeted with openness and intrigue, with kind curiosity. It’s possible to break the tired cycle of recycling our past judgments.

The first few years following this retreat consisted of what seemed like steady progress. Daily meditation provided more agency over how I interacted with my surroundings. Any time I’d find myself living inside my head, making judgments based only on my past conditioning, I’d simply note the instance of that happening and then try to evaluate things on the basis of my direct present-moment experience. This worked wonders. The more I noted, the more likely I was to catch the runaway train of judgments before they left the station, allowing me to be present with what was happening at that very moment. The judgments lessened. It was great. 

I kept up my practice. I continued meditating daily and attended silent meditation retreats. My mind seemed to quiet, and at times I was able to be naturally present without effort. However, at some point, my mind became incredibly quiet, and I began to see additional mental processes unfolding in the background. 

Unfortunately, this had the effect of making me utterly despondent. 

At this point I’ve had a daily meditation practice for over six years. I’ve attended 13 meditation retreats totalling about 90 days of silence. Add in a few dozen introspective solo journeys on LSD and mushrooms over the course of my life, and suffice to say I’ve spent a lot of time getting to know myself. But after graduating from my earlier life of self-loathing during the first years of practice and reaching a space of quiet contentment with the way things are, I had returned full circle to hating myself. 

That’s because as my mind quieted further, I started noticing that the harsh judgments were still there. I hadn’t escaped them with my practice as I had hoped. No, those first years of success were more of a fake veneer, a shallow wall I had erected to shield myself from the realities within. Some progress had been made and some improvements had been actualized, but my mind was still controlling me; I had simply constructed the illusion that I had escaped the confines of my mental prison. In fact, now that I was more mindful with my day to day experiences, things seemed to have gotten worse. Maybe I’m beyond saving, I thought. My mind has been stained too dark. There was no escape, no fixing what was broken beyond repair.

A Cause For Celebration

In May I was fortunate enough to go on a 10-day silent Monastic Retreat at Insight Meditation Society, led by Buddhist monk Ajahn Amaro and Buddhist nun Ajahn Kameka (ajahn means teacher). During the retreat, retreatants had two small group meetings with one of the two teachers, at which time each yogi-in-training was allowed to speak for a few minutes and ask a question if desired. My meetings were with Ajahn Kameka. 

During our first meeting, I asked a question concerning the seeming regression of my practice. I led with a citation from Ram Dass, a wise spiritual leader who has meaningfully impacted my life. Ram Dass once talked about how, in the beginning of your practice, things will seem to be progressing in an almost universally positive direction. However, he noted, if you continue going deeper, there will come a time where you start seeing things even more clearly, where you’ll start seeing the background judgments and reactivity as they occur with greater and greater frequency, and that at that time, you may start to feel pretty terrible about yourself. You will see how often the mind unfairly judges, and, as he put it, “you’ll start to feel absolutely disgusted with yourself.” 

This described my current predicament perfectly.

So, I pleaded with Ajahn Kameka, I’m now at a point in my practice where I don’t just see one judgment pop up here and there, but a torrent of judgments all at once. When a critical thought arises about a driver who failed to use their turn signal, it would soon be followed by a torrent of other judgments about their speed or the condition of their car or their mental acuity. The mind would make instantaneous unfair judgments about the character of the person driving the car simply by virtue of all these made-up “facts” that my mind (left untrained) had made without my permission. It was automatic; all these judgments popped up without my intention, and in fact they ran counter to the way I otherwise try to view the world. 

This made me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t believe my mind was still “going there” despite all my mindfulness practice, my meditations, my silent retreats, my certification as a mindfulness instructor, and my true desires for everyone everywhere to be free of suffering. I genuinely want everyone to be happy, I know that to be the case. Yet here was my mind just letting loose on people. The car is just one example; amplify that times 100 as I go through my day, and it’s beyond discouraging; it made me utterly despondent. It was exhausting to see it all unfold and know how toxic it was, to know that this was still happening behind the scenes. It *was*, as Ram Dass described it, disgusting.

After I finished calmly pouring my heart out, Ajahn Kameka looked at me with a warm, full, flowing smile of compassion, a look that honestly will forever be burned in my brain. It was completely disarming, and she hadn’t even said a word. And then the words that she spoke were equally as powerful, and will also forever be with me as I continue on my path.

She said, “Jon, this is cause for celebration!” I’m going to pause here before finishing her thought to note that she spoke with such genuinely kind conviction that I couldn’t possibly disagree. She was passionate and forceful in her words with me, which was unusual for most monks and nuns, who usually tend to be more reserved and even-toned. When a monk or nun gets animated, it means “pay attention.” She clearly meant what she was saying, and she meant it strongly. 

She continued, “What you are doing right now, seeing more and more of the toxicity as it bubbles up in the mind, is cultivating “wise view.” You are developing wisdom. Each time you see these thoughts, you are planting the seeds of compassion for the future. No, it is not pretty. The mechanisms of the mind are out of our control, created from the causes and conditions that came before, in a society primed to accentuate our differences and toxify our outlook. But you are seeing this unfold, and you know they are unskillful. And each time this happens and you note that it is unskillful, you are planting seeds, seeds that will mature into genuine compassion for all over time. So, take the deluge of unskillful thoughts as a sign of progress, that you are making great strides on your path.”

Well shit, I thought. I knew she was right. Somewhere deep inside, I knew it to be true. My exhaustion and frustration were borne out of a desire that my mindfulness practice had “fixed” the judging mind, when in fact I am smack dab in the middle of rehabilitating what had been previously strengthened for decades. There’s no on/off switch, there’s no easy fix. There will be challenges along with victories, it’s all part of the path. And so my increased visibility into the mechanisms of my own mind can be celebrated.

I was further encouraged by a recorded talk from my favorite dharma teacher Joseph Goldstein, where he talked about how fortunate and thankful we can feel knowing that somehow we stumbled onto the Buddha’s teachings. How many people in the world have never heard these teachings, who have never contemplated their worldview, the way that they interact with the world? Yet here we are, having come into contact with them. And he went on: How fortunate is it that we heard some aspect of the teachings that resonated with us so much that we decided that we needed to learn more? How many people in the world have heard the teachings, but not the one that they needed to hear to catch their interest? How fortunate are we to have progressed on the path such that we decided to have a daily meditation practice? Going further, how fortunate that we found a truth worth pursuing such that we went even a step further and attended a meditation retreat, spending money and rearranging our busy lives to sit in silent renunciation of life’s worldly desires? To have attended multiple meditation retreats? And for someone like me, to have found teachings that so resonate with me such that I took a year-long course to become a mindfulness instructor? How many people in the world are so lucky? 

The path will surely be rocky at times, but to be on a path to awakening, to arising from our slumber—it truly is priceless. And, having embarked on this path, would we ever wish it to be otherwise, even as difficulties present themselves? We’ve all heard the phrase ignorance is bliss, but inside our heart of hearts we know that not to be the case. Ignorance is delusion, a state of being that prevents us from being truly present with what is happening at any given moment. And if we’re not present with what is, then what are we doing with our life, other than pressing play on the tape and falling asleep while our lives go by on autopilot? 

Goldstein had another important point related to the earlier thoughts from Ram Dass. He said that as you start noticing more and more of the judgments arising, it is easy to feel like you are regressing, like you are actually getting worse. This is not the case, he assured the listener. You are not getting worse. You are simply seeing more clearly the toxic underpinnings of the mind that go unnoticed to most people, most of the time. 

Ajahn Kameka and Joseph Goldstein and Ram Dass are right. Things are progressing. And I feel beyond lucky to be able to see the toxic tendencies of my mind, as this gives me a path to developing a wise view of the world. At the end of the day, I would certainly rather deal with the suffering associated with realizing the depth of my conditioning, than simply live a “life” unconsciously acting out the impulses created by my mind. The vast majority of people are not so fortunate. 

Remain Open-Minded And Reap The Benefits

It’s funny. On retreat, when I first saw on the bulletin board that my meetings were to be with Ajahn Kameka, my heart sank a little bit. Ajahn Amaro was the senior monk, and someone whose talks I had listened to and enjoyed. I had been hoping to meet with him, rather than the Buddhist nun whom I had not heard speak. I suspect this put me in a position of confirmation bias when she gave her first dharma talk (during each night of a silent retreat like this, one of the instructors will give a 45-minute talk), as I was internally critical of her presentation and content—our minds always look for reassurance that our previous assessments are correct, and in this case, it was seeking to confirm that this nun was “second-tier” compared to the monk that I had known. How educational it was for me then, to have heard such powerful and meaningful words in our small group meeting, refuting those judgments. She was the person I needed to see at that moment, and I am incredibly grateful for her wisdom. 

Yet another lesson that we must question our beliefs and motivations, lest we become complacent and simply seek to confirm the accuracy of our past judgments. 

The Dirty Washcloth Hides New Stains

The Buddha used the following analogy. Think of the untrained mind like a dirty washcloth, full of the stains and discolorations of our past judgments, of our greed, hatred, and delusion. What happens if you further dirty this washcloth—does the appearance change? No, because it’s already polluted. Further dirt isn’t even noticed; it simply blends right in. 

So what happens when you start to clean the wash cloth? When you succeed in washing away some of the dirt, then parts of the cloth become clean. However, when new dirt is introduced to this partially clean cloth—since of course, we can’t expect that we’d become perfect overnight, the judgments will still continue to occur due to a lifetime of conditioning—each stain seems much worse, as it has polluted the clean areas of the cloth. The judgments are clearly visible, and the effects of dirtying our mind and worldview become especially apparent. This can make us feel like we’re not making any progress, or, as in my case, like things are actually getting worse. 

However, as Goldstein noted, things are not actually getting worse. Instead, it’s simply that you see the stains more clearly, which is a sign of progress. It’s easy to lose sight of this, because it really, really feels like you are regressing. Thankfully, teachers like Ajahn Kameka have been able to talk me off the ledge, and make me realize that there *is* cause for celebration here. 

Purifying the mind does not happen overnight for most of us. In fact, Buddhists believe that this process can take many, many lifetimes, and that, as such, we need not despair that we haven’t gotten “there,” and that in fact there’s no “there” to get to. We’re all on some stage of our path, making progress, and there are no shortcuts to be taken. It’s a process. Once we accept that, then our failings and missteps can be seen as what they are, which is an instructive opportunity for learning, for developing a wise view of the world. 

Still, this can be hard to accept. After all, if we know what we need to do—love everyone, always—then why can’t we just do it? Why don’t our brains accept these instructions to living a happy and compassionate life and simply carry them out, the same way that we modify our thinking and actions when learning a craft? Why do these judgments keep persisting when we know them to be the ticket to a life of suffering, both for ourselves and for those around us? Why can’t we just embody the changes that we know need to be made?

The Oatmeal Analogy

I find it can be helpful to think of the brain as a bowl of oatmeal.

I really enjoy oatmeal. It’s healthy and can be molded into countless variations, which prevents it from becoming boring. I eat it all the time, so it’s no surprise that this analogy came to mind for me. I was also no doubt inspired by a similar insight shared by another fantastic dharma teacher James Baraz, who had a similar experience when mixing some CaFix into hot water. 

Let’s look at a bowl of unadulterated oatmeal. Imagine this is your virgin brain, unpolluted by your experiences:

Looks clean, right? Not much going on, but not any aberrations either. Now over the course of your life, things will happen, and they will impact the makeup of your brain. Let’s imagine them as some of the things that you might add to oatmeal. Some are tasty, sweet experiences, like fruit; others are bitter and distasteful, like certain nuts and powders:

These experiences become mashed up over time and entrenched in our brain. This is the stage where most of us are at; our brains are a representation of our collective experiences—fruits, nuts, and powders that have become embedded and color our interactions with the world:

Then, at some point, you find wise teachings about how to live a skillful and fulfilling life. In the oatmeal, these teachings are represented by some nondairy milk poured onto the existing oatmeal brain. Like the milk added to an established bowl of oatmeal, these teachings surround our polluted brains:

Notice how the milk surrounds all of the oatmeal, but doesn’t integrate with any of it. At this stage it almost seems like they are two separate entities. In our brains, new teachings don’t immediately penetrate our deeply rooted beliefs, at least not at first. They are but a pool of insight sitting there, and we can’t expect that they would immediately blend with our brains the same way we wouldn’t expect nondairy milk to immediately blend with oatmeal. 

Instead, it takes time. It takes stirring the mixture, time and again. As we do this, they start to integrate, bit by bit. Eventually with enough mixing, the two become one. Over time, the teachings integrate with our brain, and—eventually—they become one and the same:

At this point, the brain has adopted a wise view of the world that leads to our own happiness and the happiness of those around us. The oats and nondairy milk are one, and this wise view leads to more and more knowledge that is experienced as the sweet fruits added to the top of our oats:

So there you have it, oatmeal on your brain. 

If on your path you also become despondent at a seeming lack of progress, or even a regression of past progress, fear not. You are making strides on your path and getting wiser, the nondairy milk of wisdom is being integrated. The path can seem long, but keep stirring it all together and you will soon be stacking more and more sweet fruits on top of your integrated oatmeal brain. And it will be delicious, both to you and to all those around you.