There are several forms of Buddhist meditation, and a great many books, videos and websites provide beginning instruction. My advice here is for people who already are meditating but are getting frustrated with it. Not all of this advice will apply to everyone, but if you are struggling, perhaps some of these suggestions will help you.

What Did You Expect?

Buddhist teachers usually warn beginner meditators to not have a goal.

But of course we have some kind of expectation or goal at the start, or we probably wouldn’t have begun meditating in the first place.

What happens for most of us is that as we practice our expectations fade away. This may take a few weeks or several years.

What’s wrong with expectations? Simply put, if you are sitting there expecting something, you are not concentrating on the present moment. The expectation is a barrier. If you are practicing Right Concentration, you become so absorbed in the present moment that you forget yourself. This mental state is called samadhi.

However, if you are sitting there expecting something to happen to you, you are separating yourself from the present moment. You are still perceiving yourself as an entity separate from whatever is “out there” that is going to happen.

Another problem is that whenever you have expectations that are not realized, eventually you will be discouraged and give up.

What’s Your Motivation?

Related to expectation is motivation. These days many psychologists and other mental health counselors are on the mindfulness bandwagon and touting meditation as a therapeutic technique.

And that’s fine; meditation and mindfulness really can be helpful to people with anxiety and mood disorders. But in Buddhism, meditation is not a psychiatric self-help program. (Also see below, “Pain, Physical and Emotional.”)

Many of us do begin meditation practice with self-help in mind. Even the Buddha himself was motivated to begin his spiritual journey when he realized he could not escape sickness, old age, and death. But as you practice, eventually the “self-help” goal turns into a desire to practice for the benefit of others, which is called bodhicitta. As this happens, practice deepens and becomes genuinely transformative.

© Moyan Brenn / Wikipedia Commons / Creative Commons License

The Problem With Judgments

The effects of practice reverberate in your life even when you are not meditating. These effects often are so subtle you won’t be consciously aware of them, at least for a long time.

When we find ourselves sitting with anxiety, sleepiness, or anything other than blissful serenity, we often judge our meditation to be “bad.” But long-time meditators learn that the more difficult sitting periods often have wonderfully beneficial effects. It’s a bit like lifting weights; the harder it is, the stronger you get. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with blissful serenity.

But if you decide your meditation is “bad,” you are cutting off the beneficial effects. Do you best, and when the sitting period is done, let it go. And if you reach the fourth dhyana or experience kensho, let that go, too. Let the practice do what it will do; don’t try to cling to it, “own” it, or control it.

On long meditation retreats, it’s common for one meditation period to be completely different from the last one. However, if you are internally beating yourself up for being bad at meditation, this will usually turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Burnout

Practice is lifelong. Don’t think you’ll meditate for a few weeks, “fix” yourself, and go on to something else. For this reason, it’s important to find a level of effort that is sustainable. The Buddha taught that practice should be like a well-tuned instrument. If the strings are too loose, they won’t play a sound. If they are too tight, they will break.

Sometimes people come into Buddhism with a great deal of enthusiasm and put themselves on an exhausting practice schedule. And then they burn out, and quit. Too tight!

Especially if you have a lay practice and the responsibilities of a job and a family, it may take some time before you find a workable routine. Someone else’s meditation schedule may be unworkable for you, but don’t let that discourage you.

Pain, Physical and Emotional

Physical discomfort — well, OK, pain — is common during meditation. There are steps to take to make yourself comfortable, from improving your physical conditioning to using firmer cushions or changing your position. You’ll work out for yourself what you need to do.

Many teachers encourage students to sit through pain, because it can make them stronger meditators. However, from my own experience I say sometimes enough is enough. If meditation is consistently excruciating you may start to associate meditation with pain, which becomes a whole new problem. There’s no shame in sitting in a chair.

Emotional pain is a different story. Many of us have turned to our meditation practice to help us through a rough patch of anger or grief. However, be careful to not turn your meditation practice into a tool for helping you feel better about yourself. Using your meditation for a particular end is not Right Effort or Right Concentration. Using meditation to improve your mood can become a hindrance if it becomes a habit.

People suffering from post-traumatic stress or chronic anxiety disorder might need to approach meditation with caution. Sometimes even experienced meditators — including monks and nuns — who experience extreme trauma find meditation difficult afterward and have to re-train themselves.

Many people with long-term, chronic anxiety have coped with it by shoving the anxiety out of their conscious awareness. When they begin a meditation practice, the anxiety comes roaring out of their psyches like a furious beast. It can seem impossible to calm themselves and sit still.

If you find yourself unable to sit still for long without teeth-chattering nervousness, consider seeking psychiatric counseling to help you understand where the anxiety is coming from. Also, try sitting for shorter periods and build up to longer sitting gradually.

Whatever you do, don’t judge yourself to be too crazy or neurotic to meditate. Don’t judge yourself against what others seem to be doing. Be fierce, and make the furious beast your friend. See also “Working With Worry.”

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

For English speakers, one of the challenges of learning about Buddhism comes from the shortcomings of English translations of Asian texts. And this is not necessarily because the translators are doing a bad job.

Especially in the older commentaries and sutras, many words are used that have no simple English equivalent. Dukkha is a good example. Understanding dukkha is critical to understanding the Four Noble Truths. The word most often has been translated as “suffering,” but more recently scholars have decided that “stressful” or “unsatisfying” come closer to what it actually means. But those words aren’t precisely right, either.

Buddhism has a rich vocabulary of words that describe different aspects of our mental and psychological functions. Unfortunately, in English these words, with their distinctive meanings, are lumped together and translated as “mind.”

Read More: “Mind and Buddhism: Lost in Translation.”

This article looks at three words that are used frequently in the Sutta-pitaka. They are, in Sanskrit, citta (sometimes spelled “chitta”), vijnana and manas; or in Pali, citta, vinnana, and mano. They don’t mean precisely the same thing, but in English translations they are all variously rendered as “mind,” “thinking,” “heart,” “consciousness,” and many other things.

Joycecgf, Wikipedia Commons, Creative Commons License

Mind in Early Buddhism

In early Buddhist texts, the three words for “mind” were used nearly interchangeably, and their distinctiveness must be found in context. For example, in the Assuttava Sutta (Samyutta Nikaya 12.61), the Buddha said that that an ordinary, unlearned person sees them all alike

“But, indeed, that which, monks, is called ‘mind’, or ‘thought’, or ‘consciousness’, the ordinary person, in every way unlearned in spiritual knowledge, not enough to turn away, not enough to become detached, not enough to be released.” [K. Nizamis translation]

The translator notes that “mind,” “thought,” and “consciousness” are citta, manas, and vijnana, respectively. In this context, he said, citta is “subjective mind,” manas is “cognitive faculty,” and vijnana is “sensory consciousness.”

Let’s look at these words in more detail.

Citta

Of these three words, citta is probably the most commonly used. It also has the richest variety of definitions. Many Buddhist books tell us that citta is the heart-mind, because it includes emotions as well as thoughts. However, vijnana and manas, in different ways, also take in emotions and thoughts, so “heart-mind” doesn’t necessarily help us understand why citta is distinctive.

In Theravada Buddhism, citta is the mind of subjectivity. It is the mind of our “inner” experiences, as opposed to the mind that projects outwardly to external objects. Some modern scholars explain citta as the cognitive foundation of all our psychological functions.

Sometimes citta is used to mean something like “mood” or “state of mind.” Sometimes it is discussed in the plural, as if we are all packing many cittas. An enlightened insight is the result of a purified citta.

In Mahayana Buddhism, citta is most often associated with bodhicitta, or the desire to realize enlightenment for the sake of others. In some schools it is also associated with alaya vijnana, the “storehouse consciousness” that contains all the impressions of previous experiences.

Read More: Citta

Vijnana

We most often encounter vijnana as the fifth of the Five Skandhas. In that context, vijnana is the function of mind that connects a sensory stimulus, such as a sound, to the corresponding sense organ, such as the ear. “Awareness” is, arguably, a bit closer to the meaning of vijnana than “mind.”

Yogacara is a philosophical branch of Mahayana Buddhism that emerged in India in the 4th century CE. Yogacara is also known as Vijanavada, or the School of Vijnana. It focuses on the nature of vijnana and the nature of experience. Yogacara identifies eight modes or levels of vijnana.

Read More: Vijnana

Manas

Manas comes a bit closer to the western idea of “mind,” although it still isn’t exactly the same thing. Manas includes intellect, but it also includes heart and intention.

Log before the life of the Buddha, manas was understood in the Vedic traditions as the ground of emotions, thoughts, and personal identity. In the context of the Rig Veda, (ca. 1500-1000 BCE) it is sometimes translated as “soul.”

In Buddhism, manas came to be associated with volition and with the mental functions that create karma. When you hear that karma is created by “body, speech, and mind,” the mind in this case is manas.

In Yogacara, manas is the mind of delusion or the mental processes that create an illusion of a permanent self.

Read More: Manas

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

Adhitthana is a Pali word that usually is translated into English as “determination” or sometimes “persistence.” It is composed of Pali root words that mean “foundation,” “will,” or “resolve.” As the eighth of the Ten Perfections of Theravada Buddhism, it describes the determined resolve to walk the Buddha’s path.

Both Theravada and Mahayana Buddhism have lists of “perfections” (paramitas or paramis) that are important guides for spiritual development and practice. The lists have many items in common, including the Perfection of Wisdom. However, in this case, what is meant is slightly different.

Even if you know nothing else about Buddhism you probably associate Buddhism with meditation. Dhyana Paramita, the fifth of the Mahayana Six Perfections, is the perfection of meditation.

The Sanskrit word dhyana, or jhana in Pali, means “concentration” and is nearly synonymous with samadhi. Another Sanskrit word for “meditation,” bhavana, is more literally translated “mental culture.” This underscores the understanding of meditation as a means of training the mind to realize enlightenment. Dhyana also is associated with the Right Concentration aspect of the Eightfold Path.

The Role of Meditation in Buddhism

In the West, Buddhist meditation is more popular than Buddhism itself. It has been adopted as a means to relieve stress and treat behavioral disorders. Scientific study of the effects of Buddhism on the brain are underway, and this may lead to other therapeutic uses of meditation in the future.

But meditation in the Buddhist sense is a discipline, not a treatment. The historical Buddha sat in meditation to realize enlightenment and liberate himself from suffering, or dukkha.

In the Six Paramitas, dhyana paramita comes before prajna paramita — the perfection of wisdom. And wisdom, the late Robert Aitken Roshi wrote, is “the raison d’être of the Buddha way.” The order of the paramitas is not random; in many schools of Buddhism, wisdom is thought to emerge from meditation.

Through dhyana, the practitioner quiets and clears the mind to enable the realization of enlightenment. For many this is a gradual process. Although one may experience bliss, one may experience many other things as well — frustration, sleepiness, boredom, pain, contentment. That doesn’t mean you are doing it wrong; that’s just the way it is.

With all the focus on meditation one sees in the West, however, it might surprise you to learn that lay Buddhist practice in many parts of Asia is mostly about keeping the Precepts and supporting the monastic sangha, but not meditation. And in some schools of Buddhism, notably Pure Land and Nichiren, silent meditation has largely been replaced by a focused chanting practice.

Forms of Meditation in Buddhism

The schools of Buddhism that teach meditation do not all teach it in precisely the same way. But broadly speaking, Buddhist meditation takes two forms — samatha and vipassana.

Samatha means “peaceful abiding” or “tranquility.” Samatha practices develop concentration to the point of samadhi — single pointedness of mind. In many schools of Buddhism, wisdom is said to be grounded in samadhi.

Samatha practice usually begins with a focus on the breath called anapana-smrti or anapanasati. As thoughts arise, they are observed and released. In time, the mind becomes quieter, no longer yanked around by desires and passions. (See also “Buddhism and Equanimity.”)

Vipassana means “insight.” There is more than one approach to insight meditation, but very generally the practitioner is directed to contemplate a particular teaching, thought or perspective to alter his basic mental orientation.

For example,the meditator might be directed to contemplate a saying such as “All equally experience suffering and happiness. I should look after them as I do myself.” In time, thinking of the welfare of others becomes second nature.

You can find many books, web sites, and videos that teach some kind of basic samatha meditation. But for advanced meditation it is best to work with a teacher who will direct your practice to best suit your particular spiritual barriers.

Meditation and Mindfulness

“Mindfulness mediation” is in vogue at the moment, so let’s look for a minute at the difference between mindfulness and dhyana. Mindfulness in Sanskrit is smrti (in Pali, sati), which can also mean “retention,” “recollection,” or “alertness.” Mindfulness is a whole-body-and-mind awareness of the present moment.

Dhyana, like samadhi, is more about concentration on one thing — a teaching, an image, a koan, breath. Beginner samatha meditation is mindfulness of the breath, but as samadhi develops the practitioner is able to enter a state of deep absorption in which awareness of self disappears.

Read more: “Right Mindfulness: A Foundation of Buddhist Practice.”

Meditation and Life

A daily meditation practice can impact your life in countless ways. The experienced meditator responds more skillfully to life’s difficulties as well as its joys. It helps us break free of destructive habits and overcome obstacles. In time, many of our fears and confusion fall away.

Zen teachers sometimes say that meditation is a way to find our long-lost home. “It doesn’t take much time to find that home,” Robert Aitken Roshi wrote in The Practice of Perfection. “In fact, if you lower your eyes and breath quietly in and out, your distractions disappear and your long-lost home is right here.”

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]

Some very old Zen texts refer to the “northern and southern schools,” or sometimes to the “northern or southern patriarchs.”  This refers to a doctrinal split that came to a head in 7th and 8th century China. The resolution of this disagreement determined Zen’s development from that time on, making this a genuinely critical moment in the history of Zen Buddhism.

Zen had emerged as a distinctive school of Mahayana Buddhism early in the 6th century. It was born in China, where it is called Chan. The name “Chan” is derived from the Sanskrit dhyana, which refers to stages of meditative absorption.

The earliest phase of Chan history was marked by the leadership of the Six Patriarchs. Before he died, Chan’s founder and First Patriarch, the legendary Bodhidharma, is said to have passed his robe and alms bowl, and leadership of Chan, to his student Huike (487–593), the Second Patriarch, establishing a tradition that would continue until the beginning of the 8th century.

Read More: Introduction to Zen

Sudden or Gradual?

Early in the 7th century a disagreement  arose about Buddha Nature. Buddha Nature is the fundamental, enlightened nature of all beings. But does Buddha Nature abide in us as a potential to be cultivated, or is Buddha Nature complete and pure enlightenment, already present?

These two positions came to be called “gradual enlightenment” versus “sudden enlightenment.” “Gradual” and “sudden” do not necessarily refer to passages of time, nor did one school insist that enlightenment must be realized in stages while the other said realization must happen all at once.

The “sudden” school insisted that enlightenment is not something separate from us that must be obtained. Instead, we are all already enlightened; enlightenment is our fundamental nature. However, because of our greed, anger, ignorance and other defilements we do not experience ourselves as enlightened, so practice is required. And note that although we are all already enlightened, if we practice realization of enlightenment may not happen all at once.

The “gradual” school, on the other hand, saw enlightenment as something separate from most of us that must be acquired or ripened through practice.

The Poetry Challenge

Our story begins during the time of the Fifth Patriarch, Hongren (or Hung-jen; 601–674). Hongren was the abbot of a monastery in the mountains of what is now Hubei Province in eastern central China. According to a classic story, one day Hongren challenged his monks to compose a verse that expressed their understanding of the dharma. If any verse reflects the truth, Hongren said, the monk who composed it will receive the robe and bowl and become the Sixth Patriarch.

Still according to the traditional account — among Hongren’s monks were his senior disciple Shenxiu and a novice monk named Huineng. Shenxui wrote on a wall —

The body is the bodhi tree.
The heart-mind is like a mirror.
Moment by moment wipe and polish it,
Not allowing dust to collect.

This was an expression of gradual enlightenment. Huineng thought he could do better, but he was only a novice, and an illiterate one at that. During the night he asked another monk to write his verse for him —

Bodhi originally has no tree,
The mirror has no stand.
Buddha-nature is always clean and pure;
Where might dust collect?

Huingeng’s poem was an expression of sudden enlightenment. The lines were drawn.

Somehow Hongren recognized that Huineng had written the second verse, and in secret he transmitted the deepest teachings to Huineng and gave the novice the robe and bowl. And to make a very complex story a great deal shorter, Huineng became the patriarch of the so-called Southern School, and his gradualist challenger Shenxiu was the patriarch of the Northern School.

But the Southern School prevailed, and today all teachers of Chan or Zen trace their lineage back to Huineng, the Sixth Patriarch. All surviving Chan, or Zen, today is “sudden enlightenment” Zen.

The Historical Record

The story presented above is from the Platform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch, a classic Zen text that appears to be Huineng’s autobiography but which was probably written by a disciple, or disciples, after the patriarch’s death. Modern historians say this version of history is probably not accurate, however. For example, there is doubt Shenxiu and Huineng lived at Hongren’s monastery at the same time.

Further, Shenxiu didn’t exactly drop off the map. He was a widely admired scholar who had received dharma transmission from Hongren and later dedicated himself to teaching. Toward the end of his life he became a teacher to the Emperor. The Northern School received the patronage of high-ranked members of the Court and was respected and popular. Shenxiu and his successors were considered the Chan mainstream for a time.

The Southern School was more obscure and stuck out in the boonies, so to speak. A dharma heir of Huineng’s named Shenhui (670-762) became quite the polemicist, relentlessly attacking Shenxiu’s Northern School and it’s “backward” views on gradual enlightenment. Shenhui argued that Huineng was the legitimate Sixth Patriarch and Shenxiu a usurper. It’s thought one of Shenhui’s monks wrote the Platform Sutra as part of the campaign to establish Huineng as Bodhidharma’s true heir.

Shenhui’s campaign initially appeared to fail. Shenxiu’s heirs had influence in the Chinese Court, and in time Shenhui was forced into hiding. But then came the An Lushan Rebellion (755-763), which threatened to topple the Tang Dynasty. Monks were called to the capital to help raise money by sellling ordination certificates. Shenhui did such a brilliant job selling ordination certificates that for a time he was given a privileged position at Court. From this position Shenhui was able to more effectively challenge the Northern School and revise the lineage charts to leave out Shenxiu.

Both Shenxiu’s and Shenhui’s direct lineages appear to have been wiped out in 845, when the Emperor ordered the persecution of all foreign religions in China. After that time, there was no more Northern School or Southern School. But Chan survived, and since that time it has been entirely “sudden,” even when realization comes gradually. And in Zen history, Huineng is remembered as the Sixth (and last) Patriarch.

[This is an article I wrote for the Buddhism section of About.com. However, since About.com has removed it from their servers, all rights revert to me.]