The Posture of Meditation Read online

  You should not be tilted sideways, backwards, or forwards. You should be sitting straight up as if you were supporting the sky with your head. This is not just form or breathing. It expresses the key point of Buddhism. It is a perfect expression of your Buddha nature. If you want true understanding of Buddhism, you should practice this way. These forms are not a means of obtaining the right state of mind. To take this posture itself is the purpose of our practice. When you have this posture, you have the right state of mind, so there is no need to try to attain some special state.1

  The defining marks of this posture are a sense of spaciousness, clarity, and calm at the level of mind, and a feeling of subtle, but vibrant, energetic flow at the level of body. So unaccustomed are we to the presence of this quality of experience that it is easier to define by citing the more conventionally familiar aspects of experience that are absent when we successfully assume the posture of meditation. Ordinarily we believe that we are an entity named “I” who lives and resides in our physical body and to whom all experience is ultimately referred. When, however, we open to that place in ourselves to which the term Buddha refers, that aspect of mind for which “I” is an accurate label becomes significantly less substantial. Instead of dominating our sense of self, it recedes to the background of awareness and may even disappear. Whereas formerly we conceived of our body and mind as an object named “I” that moves through space, now we see that at a deeper level of mind from which Buddha emanates we are like space itself through which pass all the components of experience that we can directly perceive through our sensory fields. Our former state of mind and experience was tight, compacted, and claustrophobic. In contrast, the enlightened state of mind and experience is much more expansive, radiant, and spacious.

  The key to this transformational shift can be found in the marks of the posture of meditation. A body that is not aligned, relaxed, and resilient creates in itself a great deal of tension and extraneous pain. Any unnecessary tension that exists in the body directly translates itself into tension in the mind. Mentally we feel compressed, compacted, bound in. If, on the other hand, we are able to bring our body into a state of alignment, relaxation, and resilience, then our mind begins to soften and expand as well. If we live in a land that is continually damp and cloudy, we may not believe that anything like the sun, with its warmth, brilliance, and power of penetration, exists at all. Once a break in the clouds has appeared, however, and we have a direct experience of the sun, then we can never more doubt its existence, even when the layer of clouds forms again to conceal it. When we take refuge in Buddha, we are also acknowledging the importance of assuming the posture of meditation. By assuming this posture, we reduce the suffering and pain that are the daily fare of the person whose body is imbalanced, tense, and frozen.

  Dharma, the second of the gemlike attitudes that can so valuably assist us, refers to the specific teachings that Gautama developed as a result of the insights that the enlightened nature of his mind revealed to him. The essence of these teachings (as expressed in a series of four short statements called the Four Noble Truths) is that we lock ourselves into a condition of suffering by wanting things to be different from what they are. We may desire things or conditions that do not currently exist; we may be dissatisfied with the ones that do. Any desire keeps us removed from the ability simply to accept ourselves and the conditions in which we find ourselves. The extension to this insight is an obvious one. If we can uproot our constant, frantic tendency to want things to be different, then we can bring an end to the pain and suffering that that tendency constantly creates.

  The habit pattern of the body and mind, however, is a formidable foe with which to contend. Constantly clinging to objects or conditions that we desire, constantly reacting with aversion to the ones that we don’t, we find it exceedingly difficult simply to accept things as they are. The teachings tell us, however, that while the task may appear justifiably difficult, it is not impossible. An antidote to the pain and suffering that, however subtly, permeate our lives does exist; it is to be found within the refuge of the teachings. The last of the statements that Gautama initially shared was his prescription, presented in the form of a series of techniques and attitudes, for securing that antidote.

  Acts of clinging and aversion, no matter how overt or subtle, are expressed through systematic tensing in the musculature of the body. It may seem initially far-fetched to reduce the pain and suffering we experience at the level of mind to what have become virtually involuntary patterns of muscular tensing. Once again, however, we need to remind ourselves that states of mind are dependent on bodily postures. Objects, images, perceptions, thoughts, and attitudes continually come and go in the complex flow of life. Holding on to any of them with the intention that they stay with us forever is dependent on the same kind of muscular tension that we would feel were we to hang on to a long rope that has been secured around the neck of a wild animal. Pushing any of them away with the hope that they will disappear from our lives leaves us feeling equally exhausted and depleted.

  Moving constantly back and forth between expressions of pulling and pushing, we bring enormous tension into our body and effectively forfeit our ability to assume the posture of meditation. When our body is tense, it becomes impossible to contact the enlightened nature of mind that the posture of meditation is able, quite naturally, to reveal. It becomes, consequently, even more of a challenge simply to accept ourselves as we are, for when we do we experience a body filled with pain and tension and a mind dominated by the limiting condition “I” with all its attendant likes and dislikes, judgments and passions. Through familiarizing ourselves with the posture of meditation, we can begin to let go of the muscular patterns that lock us into a constant vacillation between the clinging and aversion that cause us so much pain and suffering.

  The final force that aids us in our work is the Sangha, the community of others who are undertaking the journey along with us. Ordinarily we do not look to other people as a source of safety and help, viewing them instead with a mixture of fear, mistrust, judgment, and calculation. We may tell ourselves that the welfare of other people is important to us and that we enjoy the warmth and openness of companionship, but often our caring and the degree to which we are willing to be genuinely open and honest are limited. By declaring that our fellow travelers are a source of help and refuge for us, we are forced to reexamine our habitual responses to people. We are also then challenged to change our attitudes toward them when we find our habitual responses limiting our ability to experience others as caring, open, and concerned about our welfare. A leap of faith is required here to initiate this shift in relationship. If we all wait for the other person to demonstrate their goodwill before we respond accordingly, no one ultimately opens, and our hearts remain closed and fearful. If we all simultaneously take the risk to be the first to change the habitual way in which people fearfully respond to one another, then everybody begins to soften, and we all experience the nurturing warmth and benefits that come from a community of people who support one another.

  Often we are afraid to share ourselves, our innermost feelings and thoughts, our aspirations and sufferings, out of the fear of ridicule. Indeed, a mind that is locked into fear and jealousy of others (which is a direct function of conceiving of ourselves as an individual “I,” separate and distinct from the rest of humanity and the world) will often respond to others with ridicule and some measure of condemnation because of the pain that he or she is feeling. Imagine for a moment, however, a community in which we could give voice to these feelings and thoughts without fear of ridicule and in which we were willing to be open in the most accepting and nonjudgmental way to the feelings and thoughts of the other members. This is the Sangha, or this at least is what the Sangha can aspire and challenge us to.

  The teachings can only reveal themselves through a person whose heart is open. The openness of one’s heart generates a warmth of feeling that closely correlates to the attributes of the enlightened nature
of mind that were previously listed. By opening to our hearts, we exhibit the beginnings of the willingness to accept ourselves as we are. Initially the feelings and sensations that we experience around our heart may appear hardened and dry, laden with heaviness or pain. Gradually, as we continue to open to and accept these feelings, they begin to change. As these feelings and sensations soften and melt, a warmth and spaciousness appear to take their place. It becomes natural to feel caring and concern for the other members of our community, to partake of their joys and successes and to share sympathetically in their unhappinesses and disappointments. As our heart continues to open, a kind of spaciousness begins to permeate our experience. We become “big in heart.” As this sense of physical radiation continues to expand, our hardened and fearful outer shells begin to melt away, and it becomes much easier to include others within the enlarged sphere of our immediate experience.

  Ordinarily, when we encounter another person, we unconsciously begin to tighten. Rather than opening wider to the encounter, we contract and withdraw our energy in much the same way that a snail retracts its body inside the protective covering of its shell when it senses danger. As we become more sensitive to the tactile changes that are constantly occurring within our body, we can begin to monitor these shifts and come to realize how painful it is to close our hearts and tighten our bodies in the presence of another person, no matter how subtly. If we can begin to view the other person not as a hostile entity to be feared (or at least responded to with caution and care) but as a friend, as a member of our immediate family or Sangha, then we can start experimenting with opening our hearts in the presence of another person.

  The opening of the heart is literally dependent on the softening of the musculature around the chest. As Jesus said, “Fortunate are they who have softened the rigidity within, for they can gain access to the universal healing power of Nature.”2 This is a much closer and more literal translation from the original Aramaic language in which Jesus spoke than is the more frequently quoted version, “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” The posture of meditation allows us to begin to soften our rigidities. The more we are able to soften the holding and tightness in our bodies, the easier it is to open our hearts. This cycle feeds on and reinforces itself, for the more our hearts come softly open, the more our bodies shed the tightness and rigidities that make the experience of relaxed and resilient balance so elusive. By closing down our hearts in the presence of our brothers and sisters, we distort our ability to bring our body into a condition of relaxed balance and forfeit the relaxed spaciousness of mind that the posture of meditation offers.

  Our attitudes are given literal expression and shape through the tissues and posture of our bodies. By acknowledging the preliminary forces and attitudes that will become our allies in our meditative inquiry, we begin to set in motion the conditions of body and mind that will support our efforts to encourage the posture of meditation to establish itself as our natural, embodied state.

  NOTES

  1. Shunryu Suzuki, Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind (New York and Tokyo: Weatherhill, 1980), p. 26.

  2. Neil Douglas-Klotz, Prayers of the Cosmos (New York: HarperCollins, 1994), p. 53.

  2

  Alignment

  Sit with the back straight . . .

  ANY CHILD who enjoys playing with building blocks understands the principles and importance of alignment. If the blocks are placed one directly on top of the other, the pile remains standing. If the blocks do not bear this vertical relationship to one another, the pile falls over.

  These very same principles of alignment determine the degree of balance that is available to a human body. The building blocks of the human body are the major bodily segments: the feet, the lower legs, the upper legs, the pelvis, the abdomen and lower back, the chest and upper back, the shoulders and arms, the neck, and finally, the head. If these segments can be stacked one directly on top of another, that body will be able to stand in a balanced way. A balanced posture requires very little effort to sustain and allows the major muscles of the body to relax. This relatively small expenditure of energy, coupled with the phenomenon of relaxation, produces a distinct feeling tone of softness, ease, and vibratory flow. It also generates a natural condition of alert awareness. This dual condition of comfort in the body and relaxed alertness in the mind is the fruit of balance.

  If the major bodily segments are not comfortably stacked one directly on top of the other, the body (unlike the child’s blocks) will not topple over, but will have to compensate for its lack of alignment by exerting constant muscular tension to offset the force of gravity. This constant tension generates a feeling tone in the body of hardening, numbness, and pain. It clouds the mind and makes it difficult to remain focused or alert with any kind of ease.

  The exact same force provides support for the balanced body and withholds it from the imbalanced body. That force is the gravitational field of the earth. The force of this field always flows through the vertical. Even though the primary function of this most powerful of planetary forces is to draw objects to its source (the center of the earth), it also provides support or buoyancy to any structure that is able to conform its shape to the vertical direction of gravity’s flow and influence.

  Think for a moment of the giant sequoia trees, the gothic spires of Chartres cathedral, the Eiffel Tower, or the Empire State Building. The tallest trees (nature’s oldest living entities) and our tallest buildings are able to reach heights that would not be possible if their structures were not so vertically aligned. The force of gravity supports them by securing their stability. Then think of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Slowly but surely over the centuries it has continued to lose height, tilting ever more precariously toward its side. In the human body we call this gradual loss of height (and the dulling of mental alertness that all too commonly accompanies it) old age. Is it not possible that there exists a direct correlation between these marks of aging and the fact that a body may never have been fully and successfully able to align itself in such a way as to experience the supporting function of the gravitational field?

  If we can find this delicate place in which the uprightness of our body comes into alignment with the vertical flow of gravitational energy, then we experience a natural quality of buoyancy and a feeling of being literally uplifted. If we cannot synchronize the energy field of our body with the vertical flow of gravity, then life can become an exhausting struggle simply to remain erect.

  The ability to align the upright structure of the body with the directional flow of gravitational energy is the primary requirement in securing the posture of meditation. Its importance cannot be overemphasized. Our first task, then, is to create a structural situation in which gravity supports our body and meditative efforts. This task corresponds to the initial instructions to “sit with the back straight.”

  There are three major structural relationships that promote a natural condition of alignment in the posture of meditation. Each relationship builds on the previous one. First of all, the pelvis must be elevated higher than the knees. This allows the pelvis to tip slightly forward so that the weight of the upper body can rest directly above, or even a bit in front of, the sitting bones of the pelvis. The securing of these first two relationships creates a highly stable base of support for the upper body. Situated above such a stable foundation, the upper body can come to a relatively effortless condition of balance as it straightens naturally. The right and left sides of the upper body become approximately symmetrical, while the pelvis, abdomen and lower back, chest and upper back, shoulders, neck, and head stack up one on top of the other just like the child’s building blocks.

  It may be easier to appreciate just how important these three structural configurations actually are by examining what happens in the body when these relationships do not exist. Sit for a moment on the floor or in a chair in such a way that your knees are substantially higher than your pelvis. If you let yourself relax in this position, you will notice tha
t your pelvis begins to rock backward over and behind the fulcrum point of your two sitting bones. As your pelvis tips backward in this way, your lower spine begins to shift backward as well. As the lumbar region of your spine moves backward, opposite to its natural curvature, your upper body has no choice but to begin to arc forward in compensation. If you now examine your upper body, you will observe a situation in which the back has become overly elongated while the front of the body has become compressed and shortened. The upper body does not look like a straight, vertical line. It more closely resembles the letter C. There is simply no way for the force of gravity to flow harmoniously through the curvature that has been created by this structural configuration. The result is a body that is not only at odds with gravity, but is also compressing the abdominal viscera and depressing the chest. The compression of the internal abdominal organs does not allow them to function optimally. The compression of the chest significantly inhibits the cycle of breath. The free flow of energy is seriously compromised in such a body. Such a configuration of structure is the somatic equivalent of a knotted garden hose, which seriously impedes the flow of water through it.

  You will need to bring a subtle, yet significant and constant, amount of tension into the musculature of the body simply to maintain this position. While the degree of holding may be more prominent and acute in some parts of the body than in others, the overall pattern of holding subtly affects the whole body. The posture of collapse may at first appear to be relaxed, but in actuality it isn’t. Within this posture you must constantly brace yourself to offset the pull of gravity. If you were truly to relax and surrender the weight of your body to gravity rather than to brace yourself against it, you might become more compressed and collapsed, crumble even further forward until your head was hanging virtually in your lap, or fall backward. In any case, you cannot relax in this posture and maintain your uprightness.