Finding One's Place in Space and Time

Taiji is a mindfulness practice. But what exactly are we being mindful of? It is of course our movement, the execution, correct execution even, of the form, push hands, or Qigong. And it's stillness, awareness of our structure, our bodies, our breath, the qualities of peng and sung. And if we examine these experiences we generally notice that awareness of one is quite different than awareness of the other. But perhaps a deeper experience of Taiji is to look for Wuji in movement, and Taiji in stillness.

Try noticing your physical structure, spinal alignment, peng and sung qualities, and breath while doing the form, or better yet, while engaged in push hands. It is easier, relatively speaking, to maintain awareness of these qualities in stillness than in movement, mainly because we spend so much of our awareness in form on getting the movement right. This speaks to the benefit of Taiji form, and the importance of going beyond mere memorization of the choreography. Once we learn form with our mind, we begin to learn it with our bodies so that we can perform without so much mental effort. However, that doesn't let our mind off the hook. It's at this point that we go deeper in our experience and understanding of form. At this level of understanding we become aware of the small details. We start looking for the qualities we find in stillness, we ensure silk reeling, relaxation and expansion (sung and peng), and structural alignment are present, and we monitor our breathing and move so as to lead with Yi, and direct Qi from the dantien.

From here we also look to become aware of these qualities in push hands, thus expanding our awareness outside of form into a free form application, and adding the task of being mindful of our partner and his/her qualities as well. This is a lot, a major undertaking. But this is one of many reasons why Taiji is a life-long learning process, an eternal means with no end in sight.

Getting to Know Yang LuChan

Once again, I challenged myself to the Chinese New Year One Hundred Day Challenge. The idea behind The Challenge is to work on something, basically anything, every day for one hundred days beginning on the first day of the Chinese New Year. I put myself to the test last year and worked on the Chen Style Er Lu, second routine, or otherwise known as the Pau Cui (Cannon Fist) form. Admittedly, it is a shame to have to make an arbitrary excuse for training, but for me it works. The idea is to focus on this one subject, every day, for one hundred days. Before doing it last year I had worked on the Er Lu for years, here and there, when I could, when I could get my teacher to focus on it, when something else wasn't capturing my attention. But I never learned the form correctly all the way through. Utilizing the One Hundred Day Challenge as an impetus gave me the discipline to make it fall into place.

This year I did the same thing but turned my attention to the Old Yang Form, that of Yang LuChan. The greatest proponent for this style of Taiji in the modern age has been Erle Montaigue. Erle died a week before the Chinese New Year. So, in a nod of respect to Erle, and as preparation for the upcoming WTBA, Eastern USA Mini Camp, set for May 13--15, I took on LuChan's form. Consequently, the one hundred days will be over the day before the camp. So doing this has even more meaning for me.

Much like my previous experience with the Er Lu, I had never really given the YLC form my complete attention. I had learned it partially via video, and again had some instruction in the Small Frame approach from Erle at last year's WTBA event. Not long after that event I contacted Erle about learning the complete form, at which point he directed me to his "Taiji to the Max" series. This is a series of eight videos, in minute detail, describing this form complete, including all the martial applications, dim mak, and the Hao Chuan. The Hao Chuan is a nearly extinct style of practicing Taiji, with the ending of nearly every posture whipping at a fa-jing pace. Hao Chuan is translated as "loose boxing."

Of course a lot of Taijiquan history is debatable and disputed, like most history is, especially considering the lack of consistent record keeping methods. So there are some unknowns and some speculation, and various accounts of early Taiji practitioners. But, the way I understand it is Yang LuChan was a practitioner of Changchuan, or Long Fist Kung Fu, who studied the art that became known as Tajijquan from Chen Chang Hsing in Chen Village. He also apparently learned what was known as Great Pole Boxing, a system based on Qi Disruption Forms and the Original Thirteen Postures, separately. From there he combined all his previous knowledge with what he learned at Chen Village and invented his own system, known as Hao Chuan (Loose Boxing). Hao Chuan is faster than most Tajij forms, with jumps, kicks, and explosive fa-jing punches. Every application has a dim mak strike included. This is not your grandmother's Yang Tai Chi. This is pre-Yang Cheng Fu, before it was even called Tajijquan, and before it was made accessible to the masses. Of course the form doesn't have to be performed at the Hao Chuan level, but that is its highest expression.

Since the first day of the Chinese New Year, 2011, the Year of the Rabbit, I have been working on this form, and gaining profound appreciation of Erle Montaigue and of course, Yang LuChan. I do know the form all the way through, but not quite at the Hao Chuan level just yet. I also practice it at the Small Frame level, and find that to be extremely rewarding. As I have noted before, I find much knowledge in the practice of Taiji form. If we approach form with an empty cup, we learn something new every time. So it is with the YLC form. And while I can see the similarities with Chen style, much more so than contemporary Yang, it is still a very different approach to Tajiquan. A very deep, very powerful, intelligent, healing, martially effective approach to Taijiquan.

As of the writing of this post, I have one week left in my one hundred days. It has been very informative. I now know the YLC form. I feel that the challenge has been a success. Now, I have many years of challenge ahead to learn it at the Hao Chuan level, at the Small Frame level, to learn it well, so that it's second nature, so that it becomes a part of me, of who I am. That is, after all, what Taiji is about, isn't it?

Being Unified, Aware, Present

At the recent I Liq Chuan Workshop with Sifu Sam Chin, he repeatedly emphasized the need to be present, to react to whatever the given situation dictates based on current reality and not some pre-planned choreographed scenario. This is the essence of I Liq Chuan. Of course to do this appropriately the practitioner must be unified. While that's easy enough to say or write or discuss, it's something else altogether to do. It's all the more difficult and confusing when we see it as not something we learn to do, but more as learning to be. But we aren't just attempting to be, as we've always been, which is mostly not mindful and not unified, but rather to be unified, aware, and present. And this is something that takes many, many moons to master.

Unification, in the solo sense, unifying the self, is based on the concept of moving naturally, which most of us rarely do. Note, that is naturally not normally. Normal movement is the way most of us move, but it is not natural movement. Natural movement is the way our bodies are supposed to work, they way they were designed to work, and the way they work most efficiently. We just have to train them accordingly. To accomplish this, I Liq Chuan has a system of training that includes, among other things, what is known as the thirteen points and the five qualities. It's not necessarily that these things are new to the Neijia world, they are found in most if not all internal arts. But this art defines them well and incorporates them into a methodology for learning and training that is not only concerned with physical movement, but mindfulness as well. And that is substantial.

The thirteen points are physical aspects that we should pay attention to. They are as follows:

1. Center of Gravity--center of the feet

2. Perineum pointing down to the balance beam line

3. Tan Tien--suction and condense

4. Ming Mien--project and expand

5. Crown--suspended

6.Sternum--suction and condense

7. Kwa--maintain the energy in the center of hip joints

8. Drop shoulders over the hips

9. Tuck the ribs

10. Nine solid and one empty on the feet

11. Elbows wrapping down

12. Knees pointing to the big toes

13. Balance of Yin/Yang

The five qualities of movement:

1. Absorb/Project

2. Open/Close

3. Condense/Expand

4. Concave/Convex

5. The Three Dimensional Planes (Frontal, Horizontal, Sagittal)

While some readers may not recognize all these terms, as written, most practitioners of the Internal Arts will recognize most of these concepts as they are applied. The thirteen points are for the most part the basics of good Zhan Zhuang, but applied to moving as well. The five qualities are concerned with movement and interaction with a partner. I'm not going to go into detail on these with this posting, but will continue and look at them in depth in the future.

The I Liq Chuan system is designed so that the practitioner learns first to unify him/herself, then unify with a training partner. The thirteen points and five qualities are fundamental to this, and to training the body to move naturally in all situations. An awesome task, but a worthy one just the same. I have been working with this system, albeit very part time, for some time now. I have a very long way to go, due in part to the small amount of time I have dedicated to learning the system. The nearest study group is over an hour away, and it's sometimes difficult to make a class that doesn't conflict with other commitments. In any case, I have been increasing the level of training time I spend with I Liq Chuan over the past year. And it's been paying off. I hope to spend even more time from here on. I am starting to integrate the teaching methods into my Taiji classes. Many of the concepts are the same and teaching something requires one to know it well.

But I Liq Chuan is not Taiji. Granted there are many similarities, but this is a powerful martial art in its own right. It is one of the most impressive systems I have ever seen. While it may take many years of training to become competent, I am looking forward to giving it what I can. I guess time will tell.

The Martial Effectiveness of Wuji

To depict the ultimate principles of the universal laws of no truth and no untruth state, the mind should be observed with awareness.

To adapt to the vicissitude of time and to no present and no unpresent state, its force should be harmonized with awareness.

The Art of I Liq Chuan

Much attention is given to the concept of Wuji as a component of Qigong and meditation and the practice of Taiji. Wuji may be one of the most important, yet least considered aspect of Neija. Beyond the spiritual and health benefits, Wuji has important martial implications. The above noted quote, from the art of I Liq Chuan, summarizes the ideal martial state. We need to be balanced and aware, to observe the mind with awareness and to harmonize force with this same awareness. This describes the power and function of the state of Wuji. In Zhan Zhuang, which we also call Wuji meditation, we reside in primordial stillness, a state of balance preceding the birth of Taiji. Of course, with movement Yin and Yang are birthed into existence and we are put into a position of seeking balance. But we needn't seek very far, because the previous state of Wuji is a state of balance. To take it further, we need remember that movement is born of stillness, but there is always a little stillness in movement and movement in stillness, a little Yin in Yang, and a little Yang in Yin. Therein are the martial benefits of Wuji; finding Yin and or Yang when we need it, and always seeking balance.

The postural alignments and techniques of Zhan Zhuang, the Fifteen Basic Exercises of I Liq Chuan, or the basic principles and practices of Qigong and Silk Reeling should stay with us as we transition into Form practice, Push Hands, Chi Sau, Trapping, or other two person drills, and as we further transition into free sparring or grappling, and of course actual self defense. The point is that we want a state of balance. Wuji practices give us a feel for balance that we can take into interpersonal interactions. If we should find ourselves off balance, we adjust back to the feel of Wuji. Thus, these foundational practices have deep roots and broad applications.

Experimental embodied exercises can and do support the concept of power in structure. The process of tilting the pelvis forward and filling the mingmen are empowering. It is similar to the latent energy in a drawn bow. In this posture we operate from a position of power. Our movements are more efficient, as our bodies are unified. At the same time we are loading the bow, to be released through the issuance of fa jin.

Additionally, there is much to be gained martially from mindfulness. Wuji Qigong is a form of meditation, and we experience the myriad benefits of meditation in these practices. Among these is getting beyond conditioning and the habits of mind. This plays exceptionally well in martial situations, as conditioning and mental habits are counterproductive to martial effectiveness. Instead the martial artist should strive to be aware and present in the moment to deal with what happens as it happens. Push hands and other sensitivity drills emphasize listening as potent martial skill. To effectively 'listen' to our training partners we must be aware, present, and balanced, both internally and externally. We strive to know our attacker, to feel our own latent energy, and to be aware enough to utilize it when needed. In a nutshell, effective action in motion is premised and developed by effective awareness in stillness.

As we put it all together we find no separation between movement and stillness. It's all the same, as evidenced by awareness. This is the true state of Wuji.

The Real Deal

Erle Montaigue, 1949--2011

The martial arts world lost a real giant last week. Erle Montaigue passed away on Wednesday, January 26th. He was a genuine Master of Taijiquan, yet he refused to accept any such titles. His friends and students span the globe. I feel fortunate to have had the opportunity to train with and get to know him before he left this plane.

Sincerity is a big thing for me. And if he was anything at all, Erle Montaigue was sincere. When I was composing this post my initial thoughts were of that sincerity. And I had to resist the temptation to compare him to some of the shysters I have met in my martial arts experiences. I considered relating some of those experience here, but changed my mind as that would serve no good in the end. Rather than disparage those who easily disparage themselves, I decided to focus on the positive. Getting to know Erle and to learn the system he taught has been a big positive for me.

Although he was one of the most talented martial artists on the planet, Erle was a very humble and unassuming man. As I noted, he insisted that he not be called "Master" or "Sifu" or "Sensei", or any other title that would place him above anyone else. Rather, he treated all his students, even the newest newbie beginner, as an equal. He taught and practiced in his street clothes. He has the largest offering of Taiji training videos known to mankind, most of which were recorded in his old barn or his back yard, with kids and dogs and chickens running around, clothes hanging on the line in the background, and his loyal friends and students all playing a crucial part in the lessons, and all as humble and as unassuming as he.

I am a bit of a latecomer to the WTBA world. But still, Erle treated me as if I had been around forever. We conversed several times via email or Facebook about Taiji and/or music, and I had the opportunity to train with him and Eli (his son) last May in Maryland. Each time, he spoke to me as if he had known me for years. But at the same time, he must have known a million people--easily. His students come from all over the world, and he apparently treated each and every one with the same level of mutual respect and admiration.

He will be missed. But, that being what it is, we must all carry on. Eli is now running the WTBA without Erle. But he will always be with us in spirit. I personally still have a long way to go in that system. But there are tons of videos to reference, lots of willing and qualified teachers, and opportunities to continue. The WTBA-USA will be gathering again this May in Pennsylvania. It should be a good time. Eli will be leading the training. And I feel quite certain the old teacher will still get a few lessons in after all.

I think it is a shame to lose such a treasure. But at the same time, I feel honored to have had the opportunity to have met and trained with him, and am thrilled to still have opportunities to continue in his system. Erle Montaigue was, without a doubt, the real deal.

The Nonverbal Attributes of Taiji

A central component of most Taiji practices is the Taiji form. And although there are various forms in the wide world of Taijiquan, they all convey the energies and principles of Taiji in such a way that we can practice, learn, and improve even if we practice alone. As we begin to understand our particular form, it should begin to speak to us, to teach. Accordingly, it should speak to those observing the form as well. This is one of the nonverbal attributes of Taiji.

Often the messages of Taiji are understood, but are not necessarily conducive to ordinary language. Of course we need teachers, and the imparted wisdom of those more familiar with, or with varying perspectives on our tradition. We could never start upon our paths, or follow them intelligently without informed guidance. But our teachers are not always with us. And typically, as we progress we move figuratively, and often literally, further from our teachers. We often don't have easy or frequent access to them. But we still have the need to learn, to progress. Therein is the beauty of Taiji's nonverbal attributes. We can still learn, we just have to teach ourselves to listen the right way.

The nonverbal attributes are not limited to the Taiji form. I have found much wisdom, strength, and knowledge inherent in Zhan Zhuang practice. As a matter of fact, as I mature in my Taiji practice, I am finding much more information in the simple practice of standing. Often, in various Qigong and Taiji forms, we will stop and hold a position. At that moment I can feel the latent power of Zhan Zhuang waiting to express, and concurrently to speak, to teach. Sharing that feeling is hard, because one can only feel it to understand it.

I did not begin my Taiji training with this knowledge, waiting for it to manifest. Rather, it just happened. Eventually, I caught on and started to listen. Of course, mindfulness, openness, and equanimity are essential for this type of listening. We need to be present, to reside in our bodies, and to receive the message(es) with discernment.

A further, and perhaps easier to understand nonverbal attribute is the listening of push hands. In this case we are still listening to our own bodies. In fact, for martial competence it is crucial that we listen to our own bodies in any partner practices. But, in following the tenets of push hands practice, we are also listening to our partners. The goals of this listening are manifold. We are listening for advantage, or for understanding those with whom we are engaged; we are listening so that we can instruct our partners, or others; and we are listening so that we can nurture our training partners as we nurture ourselves. None of these goals are obtainable without listening to the nonverbal attribute of push hands.

Considering the nonverbal attributes of Taiji broadens our practice. Further, it offers depth. And it opens the possibilities for knowledge way beyond what we may have thought possible. That is a good thing--the way it should be.

What is Enlightenment?

Below is an article by Buddhist teacher and author Jack Kornfield on the many varieties of enlightenment. Original article here.

ENLIGHTENMENTS
By Jack Kornfield
On a meditation retreat several years ago, late one evening after the Dharma talk, a woman raised her hand and asked one last question: “Is enlightenment just a myth?” When we teachers went back to our evening meeting, we asked each other this question. We exchanged stories about the creative freedom of Ajahn Chah, the enormous field of metta around Dipa Ma, the joyous laughter of Poonja, and of our own awakenings. Of course there is enlightenment.
But the word enlightenment is used in different ways, and that can be confusing. Is Zen, Tibetan, Hindu or Theravada enlightenment the same? What is the difference between an enlightenment experience and full enlightenment? What do enlightened people look like?

APPROACHES TO ENLIGHTENMENT
Early on in my practice in Asia, I was forced to deal with these questions quite directly. My teachers, Ajahn Chah in Thailand and Mahasi Sayadaw in Burma, were both considered among the most enlightened masters of Theravada Buddhism. While they both described the goal of practice as free-dom from greed, hatred and delusion, they didn’t agree about how to attain enlightenment, nor how it is experienced. I started my monastic training practicing in community with Ajahn Chah. Then I went to study in a monastery of Mahasi Sayadaw, where the path of liberation focuses entirely on long silent meditation retreats.
In the Mahasi system, you sit and walk for weeks in the retreat context and continuously note the arising of breath, thought, feelings and sensations over and over until the mindfulness is so refined there is nothing but instantaneous arising and passing. You pass through stages of luminosity, joy, fear and the dissolution of all you took to be solid. The mind becomes unmoving, resting in a place of stillness and equanimity, transparent to all experience, thoughts and fears, longings and love. Out of this there comes a dropping away of identity with anything in this world, an opening to the unconditioned beyond mind and body; you enter into the stream of liberation. As taught by Mahasi Sayadaw, this first taste of stream-entry to enlightenment requires purification and strong concentration leading to an experience of cessation that begins to uproot greed, hatred and delusion.
When I returned to practice in Ajahn Chah’s community following more than a year of silent Mahasi retreat, I recounted all of these experiences—dissolving my body into light, profound insights into emptiness, hours of vast stillness and freedom. Ajahn Chah understood and appreciated them from his own deep wisdom. Then he smiled and said, “Well, something else to let go of.” His approach to enlightenment was not based on having any particular meditation experience, no matter how profound. As Ajahn Chah described them, meditative states are not important in themselves. Meditation is a way to quiet the mind so you can practice all day long wherever you are; see when there is grasping or aversion, clinging or suffering; and then let it go. What’s left is enlightenment, always found here and now, a release of identification with the changing conditions of the world, a resting in awareness. This involves a simple yet profound shift of identity from the myriad, ever-changing conditioned states to the unconditioned consciousness—the awareness which knows them all. In Ajahn Chah’s approach, release from entanglement in greed, hatred and delusion does not happen through retreat, concentration and cessation but from this profound shift in identity.
How can we understand these seemingly different approaches to enlightenment? The Buddhist texts contain some of the same contrasting descriptions. In many texts, nirvana is described in the language of negation, and as in the approach taught by Mahasi Sayadaw, enlightenment is presented as the end of suffering through the putting out of the fires of craving, the uprooting of all forms of clinging. The elimination of suffering is practiced by purification and concentration, by confronting the forces of greed and hate and overcoming them. When the Buddha was asked, “Do you teach annihilation? Is nirvana the end of things as we know them?” he responded, “I teach only one form of annihilation: the extinction of greed, the extinction of hatred, the extinction of delusion. This I call nirvana.”
There is in the texts, as well, a more positive way of understanding enlightenment. Here nirvana is described as the highest happiness; as peace, freedom, purity, stillness; and as the unconditioned, the timeless, the undying. In this understanding, as in Ajahn Chah’s approach, liberation comes through a shift of identity—a release from attachment to the changing conditions of the world, a resting in consciousness itself, the deathless.
In this understanding, liberation is a shift of identity from taking anything as “self.” Asked, “How is it that one is not to be seen by the king of death?” the Buddha responded, “For one who takes nothing whatsoever as I or me or mine, such a one is freed from the snares of the king of death.” In just this way, Ajahn Chah instructed us to rest in awareness and not identify with any experience as I or mine.
I found a similar practice in Bombay with Sri Nisargadatta, a master of Advaita. His teachings about enlightenment demanded a shift from identifying with any experience to resting in consciousness wherever you are. His focus was not about annihilation of greed and hate. In fact, when asked if he ever got impatient, Nisargadatta joyfully explained, “I see, hear and taste as you do, feel hunger and thirst; if lunch is not served on time, even impatience will arise. All this I perceive quite clearly, but somehow I am not in it. There is awareness of it all and a sense of immense distance. Impatience arises; hunger arises. Even when illness and death of this body arise, they have nothing to do with who I am.” This is enlightenment as a shift in identity.
So here we have different visions of enlightenment. On the one hand, we have the liberation from greed, hatred and delusion attained through powerful concentration and purification, emphasized by many masters from Mahasi and Sunlun Sayadaw to Rinzai Zen. On the other hand, we have the shift of identity reflected in the teachings of Ajahn Chah, Buddhadasa, Soto Zen and Dzogchen. And there are many other approaches; if you practice Pure Land Buddhism, which is the most widespread tradition in China, the approach to enlightenment involves devotion and surrender, being carried by the Buddha’s “grace.”
To understand these differences, it is wisest to speak of enlightenment with the plural s—as enlightenments. It’s the same way with God. There are so many forms: Jehovah, Allah, Brahma, Jesus, Kali and so forth. As soon as followers say they know the one true God, conflict arises. Similarly, if you speak of enlightenment as one thing, conflict arises and you miss the truth.
We know that the Buddha taught many different approaches to enlightenment, all as skillful means to release grasping of the limited sense of self and return to the inherent purity of consciousness. Similarly, we will discover that the teachings on enlightened consciousness include many dimensions. When you actually experience consciousness free of identification with changing conditions, liberated from greed and hate, you find it multifaceted, like a mandala or a jewel, a crystal with many sides. Through one facet, the enlightened heart shines as luminous clarity, through another as perfect peace, through another as boundless compassion. Consciousness is timeless, ever-present, completely empty and full of all things. But when a teacher or tradition emphasizes only one of these qualities over the others, it is easy to be confused, as if true enlightenment can be tasted in only one way. Like the particle-and-wave nature of light, enlightenment consciousness is experienced in a myriad of beautiful ways.

GATEWAYS TO ENLIGHTENMENT
So what practices lead to these enlightenments? Most centrally, Buddhism uses the liberating practices of mindfulness and lovingkindness. These are supported by the practice of virtue, which frees us from being caught in reactive energies that would cause harm to ourself or others. Added to this are practices of composure, or concentration, where we learn to quiet the mind; and practices of wisdom, which can see clearly how all things arise and pass, how they cannot be possessed. Through these practices come purification and healing and the arising of profound compassion. Gradually, there is a shift of identity from being the person who is caught in suffering, to liberation. Releasing the sense of self and all the changing conditions of the world brings stream-entry, the first stage of enlightenment.
The most common gates to stream-entry in the Theravada tradition are the gateway of impermanence, the gateway of suffering and the gateway of selflessness. When we open through the gateway of impermanence, we see more and more deeply how every experience is born and dies, how every moment is new. In one monastery where I practiced, we were trained to experience how all of life is vibration. Through long hours of refined concentration, we came to sense all the sounds and sights, the breath, the procession of thoughts—everything we took to be ourself—as a field of changing energy. Experience shimmered, dissolving moment by moment. Then we shifted our attention from the vibrations to restin the spacious heart of awareness. I and other, inside and outside—everything dropped away and we came to know the vast stillness beyond all change. This is enlightenment through the gate of impermanence.
Sometimes we enter enlightenment through the gate of suffering. We sit in the fire of human experience, and instead of running from it, we awaken through it. In the Fire Sermon, the Buddha declares, “All is burning. The eye, the nose, the tongue, the body, the mind, the world is burning. With what is it burning? It is burning with the fires of greed, of hatred and of delusion.” Through the gate of suffering we face the fires of desire, hate, war, racism and fear. We open to dissatisfaction, grief and loss. We accept the inherent suffering in life and we are released. We discover that suffering is not “our” pain, it is “the” pain—the pain of the world. A profound dispassion arises, compassion fills the heart, and we find liberation.
My friend Salam, a Palestinian journalist and activist, passed through the gate of suffering when brutally beaten in Israeli prisons. This kind of suffering happens on every side in war. When I first met Salam in San Francisco, he was being honored for his hospice service. I asked him what brought him to this work. “One time I died,” Salam told me. Kicked by a guard, he lay on the floor of the jail with blood coming out of his mouth, and his consciousness floated out of his body. Suddenly, he felt so peaceful—a kind of bliss—as he saw he wasn’t that body. “I was so much more: I was the boot and the guard, the goat calling outside the walls of the police station. I was all of it,” Salam told me. “When I got out of jail, I couldn’t take sides anymore. I married a Jewish woman and had Jewish-Palestinian children. That is my answer.” Salam explains, “Now I sit with people who are dying because they are afraid and I can hold their hands and reassure them that it’s perfectly safe.” He awakened through the gate of suffering.
Sometimes we awaken through the gate of selflessness. The experience of selflessness can happen in the simplest ways. In walking meditation, we notice with every step the unbidden arising of thoughts, feelings, sensations, only to observe them disappear. To whom do they belong? Where do they go? Back into the void, which is where yesterday went, as well as our childhood, Socrates, Genghis Khan and the builders of the pyramids.
As we let go of clinging, we feel the tentative selflessness of things. Sometimes boundaries dissolve, and we can’t separate ourself from the plum tree, the birdsong or the morning traffic. The whole sense of self becomes empty experience arising in consciousness. More and more deeply, we realize the joy of “no self, no problem.” We taste enlightenment through the gate of selflessness and emptiness.
There are many other gates: the gates of compassion, of purity, of surrender, of love. There is also what is called the “gateless gate.” One teacher describes it this way: “I would go for months of retreat training, and nothing spectacular would happen, no great experiences. Yet somehow everything changed. What most transformed me were the endless hours of mindfulness and compassion, giving a caring attention to what I was doing. I discovered how I automatically tighten and grasp, and with that realization I started to let go, to open to an appreciation of whatever was present. I found an ease. I gave up striving. I became less serious, less concerned with myself. My kindness deepened. I experienced a profound freedom, simply the fruit of being present over and over.” This was her gateless gate.

EXPRESSIONS OF ENLIGHTENMENT
Whatever our gate to enlightenment, the first real taste, stream-entry, is followed by many more tastes as we learn to stabilize, deepen and embody this wisdom in our own unique life. What does it look like? The facets of enlightenment express themselves marvelously in our teachers. Each manifests enlightenment with his or her own flavors.
Dipa Ma, a wonderful grandmother in Calcutta, was one of the great masters of our tradition. A tiny person with a powerfully trained mind, Dipa Ma expressed enlightenment as love. She devotedly instructed her students in mindfulness and lovingkindness and then she hugged them—putting her hands on their head, face and shoulders, whispering metta phrases. They got drunk on love. Like Dipa Ma, Ammachi, a Hindu teacher from South India, manifests enlightenment as the “hugging guru.” She goes into a trance, and all night long she holds people; she might take as many as 2,000 people onto her lap and hug them. This is enlightenment as love.
For Zen Master Suzuki Roshi enlightenment was expressed by being just where you are. A woman told Suzuki Roshi she found it difficult to mix Zen practice with the demands of being a householder: “I feel I am trying to climb a ladder, but for every step upward I slip backward two steps.” “Forget the ladder,” Suzuki Roshi told her. “When you awaken, everything is right here on the ground.” He explained how the desire to gain anything means you miss the reality of the present. “When you realize the truth that everything changes and find your composure in it, there you find yourself in nirvana.” Asked further about enlightenment, Suzuki Roshi said, “Strictly speaking there are no enlightened beings; there is only enlightened activity.” If you think you are enlightened, that is not it. The goal is to let go of being anyone special and meet each moment with beginner’s mind.
Mahasi Sayadaw, the Burmese master, expressed enlightenment as emptiness. Watching him on his visits to America, we saw that he rarely laughed or judged. Instead, he exuded a quiet equanimity. Events and conversations would happen around him while he remained still. He was like space—transparent, nobody there. This is enlightenment as emptiness.
For Ajahn Jumnien, a Thai forest master, awakening is not only empty; it’s full. His robe is covered in hundreds of sacred medallions, and he employs dozens of skillful means to teach—guided meditations, sacred chants, mantras, chakra and energy practices, forest medicines, animal stories and shamanic rituals. His Dharma is all-hours, nonstop, full of life and joy. There’s a sense of abundance in him, and happiness just pours out like a fountain. He expresses enlightenment as fullness.
Thich Nhat Hanh expresses enlightenment as mindfulness. When he comes to teach at Spirit Rock, 3,000 people sit meditatively on the hillside and eat their apples mindfully in preparation for his arrival. A bell is rung, and he walks slowly and deliberately up the road—so mindfully that everyone sighs, “Ahhh.” The consciousness of 3,000 people is transformed just seeing this man walk, each step the whole universe. As we watch, we drop into the reality of the eternal present. This is where we awaken. Enlightenment as mindfulness.
The Dalai Lama expresses enlightenment as compassionate blessing. For instance, once at the end of his stay at a San Francisco hotel, he asked the management to bring out all the employees. This meant the people who chop vegetables in the kitchen, who clean the carpets late at night, who make the beds. The big circular driveway filled with all those who made this hotel work but who were usually unrecognized. One by one, he looked at each one with full presence, took each person’s hand, and said, “Thank you,” moving unhurriedly just to make sure that he connected with each one fully. The Dalai Lama personifies enlightenment as compassionate blessing.
Ajahn Chah’s manifestation was the laughter of wisdom. Whether with generals or ministers, farmers or cooks, he would say, “When I see how much people are struggling, I look at them with great sympathy and ask, ‘Are you suffering? Ahhh, you must be very attached. Why not let go?’” His teachings were deep and straight to the point. He’d say, “If you let go a little, you’ll be a little happy. If you let go a lot, you’ll be a lot happy. If you let go completely, you’ll be completely happy.” He saw suffering, its cause, and that freedom is possible in any moment. He expressed enlightenment as wisdom.
When people read these stories, they might ask, “How do they relate to me? I want these enlightenments. How do I get them? What should I do?” The jewel of enlightenment invites us to awaken through many skillful means. Mahasi Sayadaw would say, “To find emptiness, note every single moment until what you think to be the world dissolves, and you will come to know freedom.” Ajahn Chah would say, “Just let go, and become the awareness, be the one who knows.” Dipa Ma would say, “Love no matter what.” Thich Nhat Hanh would say, “Rest in mindfulness, this moment, the eternal present.” Ajahn Jumnien would say, “Be happy for no cause.” Suzuki Roshi would say, “Just be exactly where you are. Instead of waiting for the bus, realize you are on the bus.”
So, is enlightenment a myth? No. It is not far away. It is freedom here and now, to be tasted whenever you open to it. In my role as a teacher, I have the privilege of seeing the blessing of enlightenments awaken in so many meditators who come to Dharma practice and become transformed through its many expressions. As their initial tension and struggle with life, doubt and distress subsides, I watch their bodies ease, their faces soften, their Dharma vision open, their hearts blossom. Some touch what Buddhadasa called “everyday nirvana.” Others come to know a deep purity of mind and to experience a taste of liberation directly.
The Buddha declares, “If it were not possible to free the heart from entanglement, I would not teach you to do so. Just because it is possible to free the heart, there arise the teachings of the Dharma of liberation, offered openhandedly for the welfare of all beings.”
Aim for nothing less.

Jack Kornfield trained as a Buddhist monk in the monasteries of Thailand, India and Burma. He has taught meditation internationally since 1974 and is a founding teacher of the Insight Meditation Society and Spirit Rock Meditation Center. He is author of many books, including the new title The Buddha Is Still Teaching.
© 2010 Inquiring Mind