Chances are, whether you’re aware of it or not, you have a certain way of framing your Dharma practice. That is, you function using a conceptual framework that defines your relationship to your practice, the intent of that practice, and what is supposedly being transformed by that practice. When you’re centered in the moment, you can practice without framing, but most of the time you’ll be framing things whether you mean to or not. It’s good to be conscious of your framing and choose a framing that’s helpful.
Quicklinks to Article Content:
Ways We Frame Our Practice
Alternative Framing: Using a Borrowed Person
The Benefits of Framing Your Person as Borrowed
The Importance of Radical Self-Acceptance
Our Spiritual Journey as a Road Trip
Ways We Frame Our Practice
Whenever you make effort in your practice, it’s almost inevitable that you will mentally frame your effort – that is, create a story about, or mental framework for, that effort.
The most common way we frame our practice is to identify with our intention and see our body and mind as the object of our efforts (what we’re trying to change). We imagine an aspirational internal executive “I” who is sometimes pleased with the results of its efforts, but often is frustrated, disappointed, or even ashamed of its meager results. Despite so much work and time, our body and mind remain recalcitrant – distracted, attached, agitated, lazy, etc. Quite often, the harder the effort we are making – such as during our meditation, or in a silent retreat, or when we’re trying to change a problematic behavior – the more difficult real progress or change seems to be.
When the “I’m improving this body-mind” framing feels dissatisfying, it’s common for us to switch into identifying with our sadly inadequate body-mind. Whereas before – when we were identified with the supposed executive “I” – we felt negatively about our lack of ability to bring about change, now we feel frustrated, disappointed, or even ashamed of our body-mind itself. We lament our karmic obstacles, physical and mental disabilities, bad habits, emotional turmoil, and lack of discipline. When we feel this way, we may frame our practice as “self-flagellation,” where we imagine that if we dwell on our obstacles and shortcomings long enough, maybe shame and misery will finally get this body-mind back in line.
When things are going well, of course, there are many more fruitful and subtle ways to frame your practice. You may, at times, be able to settle into a sense that if you get out of the way, the practice does itself. You may be able to tap into a sense of wonder and mystery that inspires you to drop preconceived notions and open up to the unknown. You may notice that when you settle into right here, right now, it’s your Buddha-Nature that moves toward what is wholesome.
What about when the going is hard, though? I recently came up with a way to frame my practice when it feels challenging – when I’m frustrated or disappointed with the results of my efforts, or sincerely wish my body-mind was other than how it is.
Alternative Framing: Using a Borrowed Person
Imagine you really want to go on a cross-country road trip, but you don’t own a car. A friend generously offers their only car to you. It turns out they don’t need it for a while, so you can use it for the duration of your trip.
Although you’re grateful – after all, you couldn’t go on the trip at all without this vehicle – your friend’s car is quite old. It has old crank windows and one of them doesn’t roll down (or if you roll it down, you may not get it back up again). It has a slow oil leak, so you have to check the oil every time you get gas. It has no air conditioning so when the sun beats down you have to open the windows and let the wind buffet your face. It shakes when you drive more than 50 miles an hour, smells a little, and has nothing more than a radio.
At first, you’re annoyed with the state of the car, but then you begin to settle in and enjoy it. It’s just another part of this trip you’re on, and despite its flaws it gets you where you want to go. You treat the car gently and with respect because it’s not yours – and the fact that it’s not yours also means you don’t worry about its state of repair. If it conks out during your trip, your friend will understand, and you’ll just take the bus home. Once you get back, the car isn’t your problem anymore.
During my recent sesshin (weeklong silent meditation retreat), I started thinking about my body-mind, or person, as something borrowed. It was a vehicle that allowed me to be present at the retreat: Sitting zazen, chanting, bowing, working, meeting with the teacher. Sure, it was annoying when this person’s mind was fixated on random thoughts instead of embracing silence in zazen. It was annoying when this person’s upper back became painful during almost every meditation session. It was rather ridiculous when this person would have a profound insight one moment and then mull over mean and petty thoughts the next. It was frustrating when this person came up against their karmic hangups and attachment to conceptual thinking whenever they tried to meet the teacher with authenticity.
But, without this extremely imperfect vehicle, no retreat! No use wishing I had ended up with a better one! And to the extent I was able to think of this person as borrowed, I was able to be free from self-recrimination, feeling sorry for myself, or pondering how miserable it would be to be this person forever, with no chance of improvement.
In addition, when I thought of this person as belonging to someone else, I was inclined to be respectful of it. Experiences of its quirks and limitations made me feel sympathy for, not judgmental of, its owner. When self-centered thoughts arose, I was able to think of this phenomenon more objectively. I imagined commiserating later with the owner, “Man, it’s hard to concentrate with all those self-centered thoughts arising, isn’t it?” Just as I might laugh with the owner of the old car after my road trip about shared experiences – the way the car’s glove compartment won’t open unless you jiggle the latch just right, or how sometimes you can only get AM stations on the radio.
The Benefits of Framing Your Person as Borrowed
Thinking of your person as a vehicle you are borrowing for this life of practice also can help you be realistic and reasonable about how you’re using it, without comparing your vehicle to others or whining too much about all the care you have to put into it. Maybe your person needs more sleep than other people, or a special diet, or they have to deal with considerable physical pain while sitting. Naturally, you might wish it were otherwise, but if you remind yourself that you wouldn’t be here at all without your vehicle, frustration can be transformed into gratitude. If you want the vehicle to keep carrying you forward, you simply give it whatever nourishment it needs. This person is borrowed, remember? So, you’re not to blame for the state of your vehicle. No need for embarrassment, or comparison to some ideal. Just say, “Sorry, can’t drive on the highway in this old rig!” But the whole point of the vehicle is to go on a trip, so you keep moving forward in whatever way you can.
Maybe your person’s mind is busy, their heart is heavy, or they are preoccupied with worries. As you try to cultivate spaciousness while in meditation or practicing mindfulness, it’s easier to feel patience and compassion when you disidentify with the thoughts and emotions as if your person is borrowed. Your borrowed mind might be telling you all sorts of stories, but they’re not your stories! You might feel great sympathy for the person’s owner (“I’m so sorry about your financial worries”) but you can clearly see how dwelling on fantasies, regrets, or worries aren’t helpful. You can employ skillful means: What will help this person let go and pay attention to the present moment, even if only for a little while? Maybe you call their attention to something beautiful. Maybe you remind them that letting go will help them cultivate wisdom and respond more effectively in their life.
When you encounter the limitations of your borrowed person’s understanding of the Dharma, or their ability to manifest it, it doesn’t have to become a story about your own pitiable insufficiency. The challenge being encountered is part of the journey, and in fact is what makes it interesting. If you go on a long road trip, you may or may not remember the tourist attractions and natural beauty you visited, but you will definitely remember that time you ran out of gas in the middle of the desert and had to hitch a ride back to town on a farmer’s tractor! If you disidentify even with your own delusions and self-centeredness by thinking of them as part of a borrowed person, it’s easier to be objective about them and work on them, without getting stuck in discouragement, self-criticism, or self-pity.
In a sense, of course, your person is borrowed. You only have use of it for a limited time. You were not responsible for your birth or upbringing, or for most of the things that have shaped you. You may be inclined to blame yourself for your past choices, but there is no inherently-existing, enduring “you” who made those choices and is now reaping some unfortunate consequences. Only now is real. You stand in the karmic stream of the person – or persons – who made those past choices, so this is what you get to deal with, like it or not. Right now, your job is to make good use of this vehicle, which is what allows you to be here. You increase the likelihood that it will last and get you where you want to go if you treat it with gratitude, respect, compassion, and kindness – mixed with a healthy dose of determination. Bodhicitta – the Way-Seeking Mind – inspires you to continue on your journey, so you keep going even when your vehicle becomes old and decrepit.
The Importance of Radical Self-Acceptance
It’s difficult to overemphasize the importance of self-acceptance in spiritual practice, and this imaginative framing of “making use of a borrowed person” is just one way to approach it. The only accurate way to describe self-doubt, self-criticism, or self-loathing is to say it’s a complete waste of time. When we hear this, we may be inclined to think it applies to everyone but us. Or that the teachers wouldn’t say this if they understood the nature of our sins. This is especially true when we find ourselves lacking in terms of Dharma practice. After all, if our practice is deficient – if we can’t concentrate, or we’re obsessed with lust or anger, or we have no idea what Emptiness means, or we’re paralyzed with anxiety or depression – we won’t be able to progress on the path of practice. We have to fix these problems in order to fix ourselves so we can taste the peace and insight we seek. Right?
It’s tricky the way practice inevitably brings us up against our limitations. It’s designed to do that. If we had no aspirations, we would also experience no disappointments. When we seek to transcend our limitations, though, it’s extremely helpful if we can avoid taking those limitations personally. To take them personally means to dwell in self-blame, regret, and rejection of our person. This only compounds our delusion, inflaming our limited sense of self.
Much better if we can laugh at our limitations, “Ha ha! Indeed, this person does get caught up in intellectualizing, don’t they?” “It’s funny how I freeze up when the teacher asks me to demonstrate my understanding because I’m afraid of making a mistake.” The self-identification with any of it is extra, unnecessary, and based in delusion. It keeps us stuck in a self-centered narrative when the whole point is to transcend the small self.
I know it can be much easier said than done to accept your person just the way they are. Even after 30 years of practice I don’t walk around all the time with radiant self-assurance. Especially when facing a challenge, my person rarely performs up to my expectations. Still, my relationship to my person is infinitely better than it once was. In the first 10-15 years of practice, many of my visits with my teacher amounted to confessions or laments about how screwed up and inadequate this person was, as if I was trying to convince her to agree I really wasn’t cut out for practice after all. Of course, she never agreed, but calmly kept repeating that I had a Buddha-Nature. When I realized that for myself, I recognized that my person’s shortcomings were entirely beside the point.
Our Spiritual Journey as a Road Trip
It’s tempting to imagine that – to return to the car analogy – our spiritual “road trip” is best done with a new, fancy car. A car that can go really fast, with all the latest bells and whistles, and no broken parts. Of course, such a car might get you to your final destination faster, but is that a road trip? The point of a road trip is what you experience along the way.
The Dharma equivalent of a new, fancy car, in my mind, would be a super-disciplined person with no desires who can easily attain profound meditative states. Early in my practice, I couldn’t help but envy people I thought were like that. I lamented the relatively lame vehicle I ended up with and hoped I might be able to turn it into a fancy new car if I just tried hard enough.
Beautifully, it turns out that we aren’t even trying to get anywhere in our spiritual practice, but to awaken to the precious opportunity we have right here and now. Picture someone calmly driving along under the speed limit in their 1990 Honda Civic, stopping every 50 miles or so because the car overheats regularly. In no rush at all, they pull over, open up the hood, and then stand there surveying the landscape – taking in the sights and sounds, breathing in the air. It’s all part of the adventure.
