by Susan Downing

Everyone who receives formal training in Reiki receives what is called an “attunement” from his or her teacher.  Teachers give their students attunements are given at the beginning of each level of Reiki training (or sometimes more frequently,) and to an outside observer, it would look like the teacher is simply laying his or her hands lightly on the student’s head and then hands, while doing specific hand movements, or mudras. And yet, the effects can be very profound.  So, what exactly does an attunement “do” to or for the student? Since different teachers understand attunements differently, today I’ll share some of these views, including my own.

The standard answer, put forth by most Reiki teachers here in the West, is that the attunement enables students to practice Reiki by connecting them to the source of the energy they will then use in their healing sessions.  What doesn’t resonate with me here is that this view seems to imply that we can’t access that energy unless we receive an attunement.  I don’t believe that’s the case.

An explanation that appeals to me a bit more is that attunements initiate students into the practice of Reiki.  Pamela Miles describes it this way in her book Reiki: A Comprehensive Guide:  “Rather than adding something, I would say that the initiation process opens and strengthens what’s already there, what is already ours: the access to primordial consciousness that is our birthright.”  This is similar to how I explain attunements to my students. I say that although the energy you use when giving Reiki is already present within your body, when you receive an attunement, your awareness of this energy generally increases, so that you have the sense that suddenly there is energy flowing in you, energy you can use in Reiki sessions for yourself or others.

But here’s yet another way to think of what goes on during an attunement.  Reiki’s founder, Mikao Usui, was a Buddhist practitioner.  As part of his training, he would have received initiations from his teacher or teachers.   These initiations, often called empowerments, or blessings, in Buddhism, take place in a formal setting and involve certain rituals.  They formally mark the beginning of a student’s engagement with the given practice for which he or she is receiving the empowerment.  Sometimes this involves the students taking vows of some sort.  Following an empowerment, the teacher might sometimes take the students’ hands or place a hand on the student’s head.

The empowerment is a key factor in the student’s practice: it establishes a formal and conscious link between student and teacher and formalizes the student’s commitment to the given practice, a commitment to working with the teacher within that practice.  Even so, these empowerments don’t do anything to a student in the sense that they don’t literally enable a student to practice: with or without an empowerment, one could technically carry out all the practices associated with a certain training, assuming you could find out what they were! All the same, even if the empowerment doesn’t flip some “on” switch in the student, the student does experience an effect from receiving one.

For example, if you have received this kind of empowerment from a Buddhist teacher, you might have noticed that you experienced very strong positive emotions and even physical sensations during or after the empowerment.  Maybe you felt very happy, or full of energy, or maybe you felt even overcome by emotion.  Perhaps you felt an increased connection to the teacher who offered the empowerment, a feeling of gratitude and a strong motivation to practice, a sense that you had become part of some wonderful joint effort that includes not only you and your teacher, but all those before you who have engaged in this same practice.

So, although it would have been theoretically possible for you to engage in a given Buddhist practice without an empowerment, receiving the empowerment gives your confidence and motivation a big boost, connects you to the tradition in which you’re practicing, and assures you of the ongoing commitment of your teacher, so that as you move forward, you will be certain that you are learning and carrying out the practice correctly.

The responses to empowerments that I mention above are not only common among Buddhist practitioners.  They are also very similar to what Reiki practitioners experience following an attunement.  So, there is a very real benefit to receiving the attunements that Reiki teachers offer, even if we can’t always identify exactly what goes on during an attunement.

There is also, I hasten to add, a very real benefit to establishing an ongoing relationship with a Reiki teacher, one that will sustain and nourish you long after your given Reiki class has ended.  Although, as I noted above, it is possible to engage in various Buddhist practices on one’s own without receiving guidance or empowerment from a teacher, I feel strongly – and my personal experience with my own teacher has confirmed this time and again – that one is much better off working consistently with a teacher.   The teacher encourages you, helps you see where you are misunderstanding things, and points you in the right direction.  A stable connection with a teacher also helps keep your motivation and enthusiasm up during the inevitable periods when you feel you’ve hit a plateau or somehow gotten off track.  You can think of it this way: each moment of contact with your teacher becomes a mini-empowerment, a new blessing, whether it is formal, or ritualized, or takes place unconsciously in the course of study or a conversation.

This is exactly what your Reiki teacher can give you on an ongoing basis.  (And this is definitely the way I feel about my relationship with my own Reiki teacher.)  This, for me, is the real significance of the attunements that I offer my students.  Giving you an attunement doesn’t somehow magically transform you into a Reiki practitioner.   Anyone who wants to do self-Reiki can learn to do that by following a few easy instructions (see my last blog, “No Experience Necessary”.) And that is fine as an introduction, just the way it’s fine to pick up a book about Buddhism, read about the basic concepts and begin trying to put them into practice.  But once you’ve tried a little self-Reiki, if it resonates with you, then you should find a teacher and do some formal training, just as you would do if you wanted to learn to practice Buddhism seriously.  And this is where the attunements come in.  I always give my students attunements in my formal classes, because this is the point at which they have decided to make a commitment to practicing Reiki.  Giving my students attunements establishes the teacher-student connection and commitment and is encouraging and inspiring and motivating for the student.  It is a starting point on the student’s path of developing a regular Reiki practice.

So, somewhat paradoxically, you could say that Reiki attunements are in one sense unnecessary if you want to practice Reiki, but in another sense, absolutely vital if you want to establish a strong Reiki practice.

And I want to say one more thing about attunements. Receiving attunements is very joyful and inspiring, but giving them is even more wonderful. There is something so beautiful about marking and sharing the moment when a student makes that commitment to beginning a Reiki practice.  During attunements, it feels to me that all is possible for the students as they start off on their Reiki path. And even if I never see them again after the class ends, at least they will know, from experiencing the connection that is established with me during the attunement, that they are not alone on their path. They will always have somewhere to turn for guidance or for some shared Reiki, or simply for a conversation that will be a sweet blessing for us both.

by Jeffrey Brooks

Some people in the class wanted skills they could use to make their lives better. Some people were looking for approval. But it did not matter to me which they wanted in that moment, or what their motives were when they walked in the door. In that moment, in that class, I knew that the way they would get good was to train sincerely. The way they would get good that month or that year was to train consistently. Setting that as the requirement for the classes would mean that the people who wanted to get skill would get it, and the ones who merely wanted approval or status would disappear.

Long explanations of how to do techniques are not so helpful. Translating movement into language is inexact and inefficient, and it requires that the listeners then translate the instructions they have heard back into movement. It is more efficient to show a move and then ask people to copy what they see. After repeating the technique many times they become more focused, more fluid, more spontaneous, more in touch with the nuances of the movement. Then refining the movement becomes easy. No long explanation is necessary.

That is why I used to say, when I was teaching karate for hours every day for decades, that it’s best to just shut up and train. I was not commanding people in a condescending or disrespectful way. I was explaining the idea, just like I did here.

So when Sensei Reynolds painted the nine foot tall, three foot wide scroll of the words Damatte Keiko (Japanese for shut up and train) and hung the scroll in the alcove in the front of our dojo, it was not an affront or even a command. It was a reminder that the shortest path to mastery is practice.

Of course there is a time for analysis and reflection and theory. But these are like vitamins in our diet. Very small amounts are healthy and necessary.

Although the dojo no longer exists the scroll does, and the insight it represents continues to be relevant. Because, after training consistently for a time, without anyone having to say so, it becomes evident that the training period does not have boundaries.

We face the reality of our lives every moment. Not just during a training session but always. If our aim is to think, speak and act ethically, if we recognize the danger of permitting our mind and our life to be impulsive and self indulgent, if we learn the value of cultivating a calm, clear mind and an insight that penetrates the heart of reality, then every moment is an opportunity to train.

Then we do not need to freak out when we face difficulty. But what we can do, if we have trained well enough along the way, is to regard the difficulty as the reality of our life in that moment, and take responsibility for dealing with it, and face it, and resolve it or move ahead, with skill and equanimity.

We do not need to collapse into arrogance or wastefulness or self congratulation when things go well. What we can do is recognize the temptations of idleness, arrogance, greed, promiscuity and gluttony and behave properly, using our precious lifetime well, training ourselves to make progress in the good when we can.

We do not need to stand idly by when harm is done to us or others, as if having a weak mild nature that just goes with the flow is somehow good. Instead we can use our strength and skill to help where we are needed and the strength to withdraw when our service is done.

In this sense all of our life is training. And no amount of explanation, theorizing, or approval will substitute for genuine, wordless, skillful life.

by Susan Downing

This week I had the opportunity to teach a group of middle- and high school students and teachers to give themselves Reiki.  One or two of them had received Reiki in the past, but none of them had ever practiced Reiki before. And yet, by the end of our hour-long workshop, they were all sitting there doing self-Reiki.  They found it so soothing that when I first asked them to describe what they were feeling, they just looked at me blankly.  At first I thought maybe they weren’t noticing any effects.  So I asked, “Okay, maybe I shouldn’t ask you to put it into words.  Just tell me, do you feel even a tiny bit more relaxed?”  All of them nodded.  Some smiled.  And they all kept giving themselves Reiki.

Now, of course, when I teach a formal Self-Reiki class, I go into much more detail about the history of Reiki than I did with this group.  I spend more time talking with them about what Reiki can do for them, what they might expect when they begin giving themselves Reiki regularly, and how to develop a Reiki practice for themselves.  And I give people attunements, too, to help them feel the energy more strongly than they might otherwise do.

But I firmly believe that anyone can learn to give themselves Reiki and benefit from it without having an attunement.  The group I worked with this week showed that this is true. They learned how to give themselves Reiki, and we also brainstormed about times when Reiki might help them cope with stress or anxiety, and discussed how they might fit Reiki into their day.

I love being able to give people basic instructions for practicing self-Reiki in a brief workshop like this, since all of us can benefit from having a variety of stress-reduction tools at our fingertips (literally, in the case of Reiki).  In a short introduction of this type, people can give Reiki a try, gain a very basic proficiency with the technique, and then, if they want to learn more and develop this into a practice for themselves, they can take a formal class and learn how to help themselves even more using Reiki.

So, today I’m going to give you the same handout I gave this week’s group.  If you’ve never tried Reiki – or if you thought you could never learn to give yourself Reiki without a lengthy formal class – I encourage you to try this.  You can’t do anything wrong, and if you feel some relaxation or relief from stress, anxiety or pain (and Reiki is great for all of these!) so much the better!

Before I give you the actual instructions, here are a couple of preliminaries:

❀ When to give yourself Reiki: The perfect time to give yourself Reiki is when you feel stressed out or worried or sad or mad or when you can’t sleep or can’t sit still.  Practicing Reiki regularly will help you ride out the feelings that upset you – it is a very powerful and effective too for distracting your mind and helping you avoid freaking out. Any time, day or night, is fine for Reiki!

❀ Where to give yourself Reiki: A place where you’re not likely to be disturbed or distracted. Get into a comfortable position – either sitting or lying down is fine. (And definitely turn off your phone so you won’t be interrupted.)

❀ How to give yourself a session:

❀ First of all, access the energy: Close your eyes, put your hands together in front of your chest, and just think to yourself that now you’re going to do a Reiki session for yourself.  Next, imagine that healing energy is flowing into your hands (either from your heart, or from a divine source, or from the Universe, whichever feels right to you.)   That will do it!  Once you state your intention to do Reiki, the energy will flow, whether you notice it or not.

❀ Second, decide where to put your hands: Take a couple of breaths in and out and ask yourself where you feel drawn to put your hands.  If a certain part of your body seems to be calling for attention, just rest your hands there lightly (no need to press) and let the Reiki flow. Maybe you have an ache or an upsetting thought that’s been bothering you, and it’s fine to bear that in mind as you choose a hand position.  But don’t overthink it.  Pick a spot and go with it.  If you like, you can imagine the energy flowing from your hands into that spot.

❀ Leave your hands in that spot for 1 or 5 or 20 minutes: as long as you want!  Remember, the energy will flow wherever in your body it needs to go!  But you can definitely move your hands to another spot whenever you want.  A good time to move might be when you begin to feel bored, or, if the way your hands or body feel to you changes: maybe you felt some sensations in your hand or heat in your body when you put your hands down, and then that feeling changes or dissipates.  To choose another spot, just ask yourself again what part of your body wants some Reiki.

❀ What you might feel as you give yourself Reiki: You may feel heat, cool, tingling, or nothing in either your hands or the part of the body where your hands are.  You may feel the urge to laugh or cough or cry or sneeze.  Your stomach may rumble.  These are all perfectly normal ways the body releases tension as the energy does its work, so if you experience them, that’s a good thing!

❀  What should you do or think about while giving yourself Reiki?? A great way to approach giving yourself Reiki is to not look for any results from it, but simply to relax and welcome the energy without any intent or desired outcome.  Let the energy flow without placing expectations on yourself or the energy. That way, you are open to receiving any kind of benefit that might come along.   Working this way helps you get better at just being in the moment with whatever you are experiencing, There’s nothing you should be feeling during self-Reiki, so let go of that expectation, too!

❀ Finally, remember: There is no wrong way to give yourself Reiki, you can’t ever get too much energy, and the energy can never harm you.  The only mistake you can make is to not do Reiki for yourself at all!  So, relax and enjoy this marvelous gift you’re giving to yourself.

That’s it! I hope you’ll give Reiki a try.  And please do let me know if you have questions, or if you’d like to know more about Reiki. I’d love to hear from you!

by Jeffrey Brooks

History is not your boss. There may be trends beyond our control but our response to them will be within our control.

Western thought assumes a flow of history. In Christian teaching there is development to an end. There will be final war and final judgment. Western philosophy is thick with world-historical forces, teleology, the inevitable resolution of class conflict in a worker’s paradise, the end of history in liberal democracy, the return of the church or the caliphate.

Buddhism explains why this is not so. There is a cycle of events in Buddhism. Great epochs arise, endure, decline and dissolve again and again. They occur on a cosmic scale, in the course of a lifetime, and in every moment.

In each era, in each life, in each moment, there may be rise or fall. These changes in our condition depend on what we have done and on what we do.

So if we live in a decadent time we can still strive to be great, to serve and to be happy.

If we live in a time when decency is derided and virtue is crushed we do not need to be discouraged by this. We persist in learning what to do and then doing it. We will set an example, plant a seed, bring some happiness into the world, and experience the result of our goodness ourselves.

People may condescend to us because of our gender, or mock us because of our race, but we are not defined by our race or our gender or by other people’s treatment of us. We can respond to this as we choose, and persevere in equanimity and in decency despite the difficulty.

There are modern writers on Buddhism who talk about a “collective karma” of countries, races, and groups. I have never seen this phrase used in classical Buddhism in this sense. Each of us has our own karma. We will each respond to our experience uniquely, based on our habits and knowledge and strength.

Even if our economy surges and everyone gets their own giant house, cars and pool, each person will experience this uniquely.

Even if our city is destroyed, each of us still will have our own experience of this and will reap the result in our own way.

Buddhism teaches that there is a rise and fall of fortune for each of us and that it depends on our actions in the context of every cause and condition in our universe. The way out of the instability is to do right, see deeply, act kindly and so enter into the endless peace and freedom and virtuous action of Buddhahood. We can all do it.

This means we are free to live fearlessly and righteously in accord with or despite what swirls around us in the street, in the media, in the impressions we receive from our moment in history.

by Susan Downing

When we Reiki practitioners explain what we do when giving Reiki, we tend to talk about sending energy out through our hands into the recipient’s body.  But if you ask what that energy is and where it comes from, you can get a variety of answers.  Reiki’s founder, Mikao Usui, just called it “Reiki energy”, and described his initial contact with it, during a meditation retreat, this way: “While I fasted, I touched an intense energy and in a mysterious manner, I was inspired (I received the Reiki energy.)”  He described his method of healing as “a spiritual method that goes beyond medical science.”*

Now, Usui seems never to have talked about the energy being something independent that comes from outside the practitioner and flows through him or her and into a recipient.  But I think it is probably Usui Sensei’s description of Reiki as a spiritual method that led those who began practicing Reiki in the West (taught by Hawayo Takata who learned from one of Usui’s students) to describe the energy as “Universal healing energy” or “Divine healing energy” or “God’s energy.” And so it’s not surprising that most of us were taught that we practitioners are conduits for the energy, which flows into the recipient through our hands.

I can see that there would be pluses to presenting it this way. First of all, it can help the recipient relax if he can imagine receiving benevolent energy from a non-human source, even if it’s a non-specified non-human source. The recipient can name this energy in a way that appeals to him: Universal healing energy, God’s energy, Spirit, and so on.

I think another reason the “conduit” explanation has been so prominent is that it can put recipients at ease in another way:  since they’re receiving energy that is supposedly not the practitioner’s, then they can feel confident in its goodness and ability to bring positive benefit, rather than wondering whether their practitioner embodies and is sharing goodness or compassion or other positive qualities.

But there are also drawbacks to the “conduit” explanation.  If practitioners are only conduits for delivering the healing energy that flows from some outside source, then in principle every session from any Reiki practitioner should feel the same, shouldn’t it, since it’s always the same energy that is flowing, all from one source?  And yet, anyone who’s had Reiki from more than one practitioner knows that sessions from different practitioners feel different.  We talk about how we like this or that person’s “energy”.  This would seem to call into question the idea that all Reiki practitioners access a single, independent, outside energy source when they give Reiki.

I began considering this question in earnest a couple of years ago, as my  Buddhist practice deepened, and when thinking of the Reiki energy as having a divine or independent source outside the practitioner no longer felt compatible with my spiritual practice. So, I began to reflect on how I could explain the process of giving Reiki in a way that would not depend on referring to an independent source energy outside ourselves.  Here’s what I came up with:

When people ask me what Reiki’s all about and how it works, I first ask them how they feel when they’re in the presence of someone who really loves them.  People often respond by saying that they feel very happy, relaxed, calm, soothed. Their muscles relax and their breathing eases, too.  They smile. They simply feel content.  I say that this is very similar to the way it can feel to receive Reiki: like feeling loved.

Maybe we can say that we feel the way we do when we receive Reiki because what we are receiving is deep love.  Could we call Reiki energy simply the energy of love?   If so, then what’s the source of that loving energy?  The practitioner? God? Spirit? The Universe?  Maybe what we think of as Reiki energy functions not on its own, but only in dependence on and collaboration with the hearts and minds of the people through whom it flows.  We can’t know for sure.  Nor do I think we need to know.  Think of it any way you want, in any way that resonates with you. I think that what’s important is not trying to identify the source of that feeling of joy and well-being, but rather, accepting it for the great blessing it is and being grateful that we can experience it, however it makes its way to us.

* This quote comes from an interview given by Mikao Usui sometime between 1922 and 1926, and translated and published by Frank Arjava Petter in his book The Legacy of Dr. Usui.

by Susan Downing

Today’s post is a tale of a stubborn patient with hypertension, an insistent doctor with a prescription pad, and the insights that finally helped relieve the pressure.

Okay, I’ll start by admitting that the stubborn patient just happens to be me.  When my doctor told me at the end of last summer that my blood pressure was borderline and suggested I start medication, I said, “No way.”  She was surprised by my resistance.  I said I didn’t want to start putting chemicals in my body for a borderline condition.  So we made a deal: I’d come back for a follow-up appointment in a month, and in the meantime, I’d try various “lifestyle” changes to see whether they’d make a difference.  Well, after a month of almost no salt, more exercise and losing a few pounds, my blood pressure was pretty much unchanged.  We had the same conversation: “Would you consider taking medication?” “No.”  So we made another deal: I’d take my blood pressure regularly at home and come back in six months.  I wasn’t sure what the point of this was supposed to be.  Maybe my doctor was just tired of arguing with me. But strangely enough, there did end up being a point…

I took my blood pressure every day for about… three days.   Then I stowed the cuff back in the bathroom cabinet, where it gathered dust until about mid-February.  At that point I realized I would be going back to the doctor in a month, so I decided it would probably not be a bad idea to check my blood pressure every day.

Well, the tale my monitor told was not heartening: my blood pressure really was pretty consistently high, often higher than the upper levels considered borderline.  Hmm.  I had to admit it.  But I did not want to take medication.  I just did not!!  Over my entire adult life, I’d seen my mother struggle with one medication after another and the side effects they caused.  I wasn’t about to go through that.  I didn’t want to allow a doctor to bully me into taking drugs.

But then, suddenly, it occurred to me to ask myself why I was so resistant to doing something about my blood pressure, so resistant to even admitting that it would be a good thing to address.  I take such good care of my health in every way, that you’d think I’d definitely do the same with a chronic condition that seems so potentially dangerous to the health.  So, it’s when I saw my own reticence that I sat down to do some inquiry into what really happens in and to the body when blood pressure is high.

For several years now, I’ve been in the habit of looking at any physical ailments or injuries I experience on the metaphorical level, because I believe that illness and injuries are our bodies’ attempts to communicate to us about our habits of body, speech and mind that are not serving us well.

This is a pretty radical way of approaching illness and its symptoms: instead of seeing them as enemies and rushing to mask symptoms or eradicate disease through medication or surgery, we can investigate the symptoms and see what they’re trying to tell us about our lives. Usually they are trying to show us ways in which our lives are out of balance. The body communicates metaphorically, and once we start learning to understand this language, we can begin to see our illnesses not as enemies, but as kind and patient teachers –  I say patient, because the body will persist in sending us messages as many times as necessary in order to get our attention, often in different ways, through different parts of our bodies, through a variety of illnesses, all of which generally have one underlying theme. (For a detailed guide to this approach, see The Healing Power of Illness, by Thorwald Dethlefsen.)

Once we fully understand what our body is telling us and accept our symptoms as an accurate reflection of our habits, if we stop resisting our symptoms’ messages, then we can find that our life comes into balance on its own when we make gentle adjustments to our thinking and actions. This approach isn’t always effective.  Sometimes, if the illnesses are more complex or chronic, we may find it harder to fully understand or accept and integrate our body’s messages.  And in those cases, surgery or medication really might be the best approach.  But when we are able to pay attention before an illness becomes really serious, then we can find that our symptoms and illness fade. They fade because the body has gotten our attention and we’ve listened, we’ve accepted what it has to say instead of resisting listening.  So it no longer needs to keep jabbering at us.  It’s like this: say you go to visit a friend and ring the doorbell.  Once they open the door and invite you in, there’s no need to keep standing on the porch ringing the bell.

So, I began my inquiry because I figured my body had a message for me. What could it possibly be?

I began by looking at the physiology of the flow of blood through the blood vessels and what happens to the blood vessels and the organs of the body when the blood pressure is high.  (You don’t necessarily have to look at the physiological side of your illness or symptoms, but I find it can help, and I loved the anatomy and physiology classes I took a number of years ago, but you don’t have to go this route if you don’t want to.)  Here’s a condensed version of how my thought process went: what struck me was that with high blood pressure, the overzealous action of one part of the body has a direct negative effect on one or more other parts of the body.  Specifically, it’s like one part of the body putting excess pressure on another part of one’s same body. Or, maybe I could phrase it this way: having blood pressure was kind of like me placing pressure on myself.   Oh.  Me placing pressure on myself.  Hmm.  That thought got my attention, right away.  Suddenly it all seemed very obvious that that was the metaphorical message my body was trying to send me, or at least part of it.

Once I had found this metaphorical interpretation of my symptoms that resonated with me – and it resonated very strongly – I was able to do some serious thinking about the areas of my life in which I have consistently placed pressure on myself.  It was like a bunch of puzzle pieces falling into place. By reflecting on how I was placing pressure on myself and why, I gained deep insight into patterns of behavior that have guided me for nearly my entire life.  This was not an easy process or a pleasant one, but in the end I felt that I had not only gotten the message my body was trying to give me, but had also, through my reflection, understood why I had developed this approach to life in the first place.  What’s more, I also saw how it had negatively affected certain areas of my life.

At this point I also got why I had resisted accepting that my high blood pressure was a problem at all: at the core of my approach to life lay my habit of putting pressure on myself.  It was my defense mechanism against all possible bad outcomes.  No wonder I couldn’t accept the idea that high blood pressure was a problem, much less the idea that it would be good to take drugs to reduce it – I couldn’t imagine surviving without that level of pressure.  But once I understood the metaphorical significance of my high blood pressure, I also realized that although this approach to life may have been useful at some point in the past, there was no longer any need for it.  I saw that it was no longer a useful way to live.

This process of inquiry, reflection and insight played out over the course of about three days, during which time I was both on edge and exhausted. During these three days, when I measured my blood pressure, it was even higher than it had been before!  But then, finally, one day I awoke feeling refreshed, relaxed, and energetic.  I checked my blood pressure.  It had dropped to well within the normal range.  And although it has fluctuated some since then, and it’s not always as low as my doctor would like it to be, I am most comfortable with approaching it this way, because I’ve already seen big improvement. So, I continue to do inquiry on this topic, because I’ve discovered (through using Dethlefsen’s approach) that high blood pressure is a remarkably rich metaphorical treasure trove, encompassing not only questions of pressure, but also resistance and restraint.  Leave it to me to come up with such a complex symptom!  That is so like me.

I decided to write about this process because approaching illness and symptoms this way – by interpreting them metaphorically – is turning out to be very powerful for me, and I thought it might appeal to others, too.  It feels so right to consider my body’s aches and pains as well-meaning teachers instead of enemies to be resisted.  They help me gain insight into where my thoughts and actions are out of balance, and they help me see weaknesses I might otherwise overlook or actively refuse to consider.

Certainly this approach is not for everyone. Sometimes medicine and conventional procedures really can be good options.  But for those of us who enjoy reflection and inquiry, engaging in this kind of work can offer us a new way to approach our symptoms and illness: we can invite them in, have an insightful conversation, and then walk them to the door when that conversation comes to a natural conclusion and part as friends.

by Jeffrey Brooks

Buddhism places suffering at the center of its rationale because we do what we do in this life in order to avoid suffering and get happiness. But, Buddhism points out, because we misunderstand what causes suffering we act in ways that often make things worse.

Hamlet lists the things that cause us to suffer this way:

The whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong,

The proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of disprized love,

The law’s delay,
The insolence of office,

And the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes

This list, coming as it does in his contemplation of suicide, is powerful and moving. Not because it is the list of a 20 year old prince under pressure but because it is universal. In fact it is unlikely that a 20 year old would come up with this list. But it is likely that every adult in the audience would recognize these sources of suffering as a part of his or her experience.

If the antique language is unclear:

“The whips and scorns of time” means things that happen to you as you age: aches and pains and sickness and aging and death;

“The oppressors wrong” means being subject to tyranny, whether that tyranny is in the form of a king or a government or a boss or a dangerous neighborhood;

“The proud man’s contumely” is the condescension of arrogant people;

“The pangs of disprized love” is the suffering of unrequited love;

“The law’s delay” refers to the time when wrong is done to you or someone you care about, a time when we may seek redress from the courts. While we wait for the case to run its course, for months or years, the injustice stands and the delay seems interminable. And, in the course of life, when we witness the innocent suffer and the wicked prosper, and it appears that the only retribution that may come will come after all the parties have departed this world, the delay of justice can feel unbearable.

“The insolence of office” is the arrogant disregard of people of power for the interests of the people who come under their influence;

“And the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes” are the insults that people of merit take from people who have not earned their position, who do not contribute, but instead bear empty titles or live off the work and reputation of others.

That speech in Hamlet is powerful not because the prince pithily characterizes the bad behavior of Claudius, Polonius or Ophelia. It is because he describes what we all experience from time to time.

In ancient Indian Buddhism these experiences are listed as the Eight Human Sufferings:

Suffering of birth

Suffering of old age

Suffering of disease

Suffering of death

Suffering from separation from people you love

Suffering from meeting with people you do not like

Suffering from unfulfilled wishes

Suffering from having a body and mind

These are universal human sufferings which will cease only when our insight into what causes happiness and what causes suffering is complete. It is easy to see that this list corresponds well to Hamlet’s poetic version.

But it goes further, in the last two lines: This list includes unfulfilled wishes – the relentless dissatisfaction that characterizes human life and informs so much human ambition – and the fact that we exist in a temporary and conditional form, are also sources of suffering.

Classical Buddhism uses a lot of numbered lists in describing the world, like the Four Noble Truths, the Eightfold Path, and so on. There are many of these lists and categories, so the numbers are a helpful aid to memorizing them.

There is another classic list, this one expressing a deeper understanding of the sources of suffering.

This known as the Eight Worldly Concerns:

Gain and Loss

Pleasure and Pain

Praise and Blame

Fame and Disrepute

This list points out that pursuing pleasure and status for its own sake may provide temporary pleasure but will inevitably fade and leave unhappiness in its wake. Our struggles to achieve these things for their own sake will make us stressed, cause harm to others, and will not bring satisfaction no matter how much status, money, monuments or achievements we accumulate.

We can and should work hard, and achieve what is worthwhile. If the motive for our work is to save beings from suffering, and we get the skills we need to do the job, then whatever we do will succeed.

With this understanding we can see that gain and loss, pleasure and pain, praise and blame, fame and disrepute are all just the scenery along the road of life.

We cannot always assure the outcome of our acts. But we can assure our motives and make the most of our capacities.

And then we can know the answer to Hamlet’s great question: It is better to live.

Or, to paraphrase Mr. Miyagi: “Win or lose: Make good fight.”

by Jeffrey Brooks

As we navigate the vast ocean of our lives our senses continually come in contact with things: Things we like and things we don’t like and things we don’t care about at all.

These encounters disturb our peace. As we make a habit of chasing things we like and deleting things we don’t like we get agitated and unhappy.

If we have an overriding purpose that guides our actions and choices we may be able to navigate a course that is not based on responses to pleasant or unpleasant experience.  Instead we can set out to learn what  causes happiness and we get the skills we need to truly be of help to other beings.

One of the skills we need in order to do this is skill in meditation.

Buddhist meditation is different from other kinds of meditation. Its purpose is to train our minds to put an end to suffering forever.  Its methods are devised to achieve this purpose.

We sit in a calm stable posture. In a place that is not too cold or hot, not noisy or busy, free from bugs and wild animals, where it is not too hard to withdraw the senses from their objects of attention and turn our attention within.

Pleasant sensations like soothing music or words may calm our minds temporarily but when these sensations cease the calm vanishes with them.  So in Buddhist meditation we do not stimulate the senses.

There are two training steps in Buddhist meditation. One is to develop a calm clear mind: Mental focus so strong and stable that you can place your attention where you want it for as long as you want it there. Then we learn to use that attention to examine the nature of reality itself.

Gradually we learn to see our mind in operation, to see the flawed mental habits that cause us to suffer, and we learn how to eliminate those flaws.  We begin to do that through study, through the use of our ordinary intelligence and experience. Then we do it more deeply, in practice. Because the mental habits which cause our suffering are so deeply ingrained it takes a very calm clear mind to notice them.  Because they are subtle it takes sound explanation to recognize them, to see how they veer from the truth, to see why they cause us troubles, and what to do about them.

This is why Buddhist meditation is done in serene silence. Not to create a pleasant alternative to the agitation of daily life, but to provide a vessel where inner transformation can happen.

There is a third aspect of practice in Mahayana Buddhism:  training to care for all beings as the underlying motivation for everything we do. Developing that concern for others is a long and difficult training for most of us, due to the fact that our long standing mental habits cause us to encounter beings that appear as annoying and bad.

But training in it is possible and useful. It causes love to fill our hearts and our world.  And taking responsibility for others’ well being becomes the compass by which we navigate the ocean of our life.

by Susan Downing

As part of my Reiki practice I give myself Reiki every day, usually at bedtime.  But today, as I was out for a long walk in the late winter sunshine, I had a thought: why not do Reiki outdoors?  I was headed for a nearby wildlife sanctuary where I walk regularly, and although I have often sat and meditated in these welcoming woods, I have never thought to give myself Reiki there.  Time to give it a try.

I chose a place where I have recently enjoyed sitting for a few minutes, on a high bank overlooking one of the streams that flows through the sanctuary.  For some reason, I feel drawn to this particular spot.  I can see a couple of the bends of the stream and get a good feel for the water’s flow there, so it seemed like a fitting choice for some Reiki, too.

I sat down on the ground near the edge of the hill that sloped down to the water, took off my gloves, placed my hands, and closed my eyes.  The sun, which until now had been behind some clouds, emerged once again – I felt the warm light on my face, saw it through my closed eyelids.

As I felt the energy flow from my hands and through my body, I also moved in and out of awareness of the sounds of the life flowing around me: here and there a bird would call, leaves would shift, nudged by the breeze, and the water would speak up as it travelled on its own way.

A while later, when I opened my eyes, I glanced at the stream below.  The water upstream was just barely flowing, and then, as it rounded a small bend, passing over a muddy flat there, it picked up speed on a slight downgrade and came swirling to another turn where it found its way partly blocked by debris – a fallen tree, mostly submerged, except at its middle.  And that is the path this late spring water –  cold and yet still moving, looking the way jello that’s about to set up looks when you stir it – took as it made its way downstream.

As if this stream was engaged in its own challenge, one of moving its own liquid energy along its full course.  Not hurrying, allowing its speed to vary naturally, never trying to push any debris aside, but sometimes doing so all the same. Murmuring as it went, as if providing some commentary on this path to any who would listen, or simply to itself: “A little slow here.  We’ll take some of that loose mud with us. Whee! Around that tree trunk. Under this branch. Bubbles.”

How wonderful to hear that commentary, to sense what seemed like purposeful and joyful movement! And, turning my attention back to my hands, I felt a similar purpose and joy in the streams of energy that were flowing through my body, sending forth their own commentary:  Narrow passage here.  Follow this bend. Bumpy – but maybe it’ll open up. Hear that? Over there?  I’ll go check.

Meet you back at the heart.