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Who Is Making this Decision Anyway?
by Bhikshuni Thubten Chodron©
My friend was reading, while I went into another
room to meditate during the break. For several months, we'd been
discussing a project that both of us were enthusiastic about. In
the past week, we had been having a series of meeting and knew that
sometime soon we'd have to either commit to working together or
call it off. For both of us, this was a major decision that would
significantly affect ourselves and others.
When making decisions, I usually use three criteria.
First, I ask myself: Will this choice enable me to uphold ethical
discipline, or will it, in obvious or subtle ways, encourage me
to compromise my values? Second, I reflect: To what extent will
this choice benefit others? Will it increase or decrease my love,
compassion, and bodhicitta? Third, I investigate: Will this choice
enhance or restrict my meditation practice and development of wisdom?
My potential involvement in the project at
hand passed these three criteria with flying colors. It would definitely
enhance my ethical conduct, increase my love and compassion, benefit
to many other beings, make the Buddhadharma accessible to others,
and enrich my own practice. Yet, still something in me hesitated.
There was a block I couldn't decipher.
Sitting quietly on my cushion, I let my resistance
surface. The new project involved going out on a limb to actualize
a goal and a dream I'd had for many years. But with it were risks:
This decision would involve relocating to another place, and some
people would be unhappy with me for moving. They would blame me
for deserting them and letting them down because my attentions would
be focused on the new project instead of on their needs. In addition,
I was concerned: What if the new project didn't work out and I had
to backpedal? Would I then criticize myself for making an unwise
decision (even though I'd thought about it well beforehand)? Would
others criticize me? What if the project worked out, but I was unhappy
when my ego's buttons got pushed in the process?
Continuing to sit, I reflected on emptiness.
I was definitely grasping onto a solid self, a real "I"
that could be blamed for letting others down. But who was this independent
"I" that would be the target of others' criticism? Who
was the "I" that didn't want to be blamed for anything,
even when what I was doing benefited myself and others? To search
for this inherently existent "I," questions were posed:
Is the body "me?" Is the mind "me?" Is there
an "I" separate from the body and mind? In the end, neither
an "I" that could be blamed nor an "I" that
didn't want to be blamed could be found. My mind began to open.
I continued: There appeared to be a real
"I" that was making the decision. This independent "I"
thought it should be able to control all the causes and conditions
necessary for the success of the project. But such control was clearly
impossible. Reflecting on the lack
of such a solid "I,", I (that is, the conventional "I"
that exists by being merely labeled) saw that I had to check things
out as best I could before making the decision. If factors seemed
conducive for actualizing the project, I had to jump, knowing that
I couldn't control all the causes and conditions or their outcome.
I had to have as positive a motivation possible, trust in the Three
Jewels, and then act, knowing that the future is unknown.
What about my worry that despite my good
efforts, the project might fail? Further reflection on emptiness
enabled me to see that there was no solid failure to fear. My mind
had been creating an inherently existent, unrealistic standard of
success - the actualization of the project I'd planned. But
genuine success was not about things working out externally according
to plan. It was about living the Dharma, which depended upon my
mind. Having a consistent, compassionate motivation no matter what
happened was the actual indicator of success. With the absence of
a preordained, inherently existent measure of success and failure,
my heart felt lighter, more inquisitive and willing to take the
risks necessary to go ahead.
Then there was my concern that even if
the project were successful, my ego might take a trampling in the
process and I might not be happy. Continuing to meditate, I reflected
that there was no inherently existent "I" to be happy
or unhappy. There was no real "I" who possessed buttons
that could be pushed while working on the project, nor were there
real buttons to be pushed. I didn't have to be so defensive. I didn't
have to worry so much about my own happiness. That
happiness was merely labeled by mind, and rather than label it in
dependence upon my own fleeting and unreliable feelings, I needed
to label it in dependence upon the long-term benefit the project
would have for sentient beings and the flourishing of the Buddha's
teachings.
We might wonder: If the "I," decision,
blame, success, failure, happiness, or unhappiness didn't exist
ultimately, who was making the decision? Because my teachers had
continuing emphasized the co-existence of emptiness and dependent
arising, I reflected that although the "I," decision,
and so forth did not ultimately exist, they still existed conventionally.
They arose dependently, merely labeled by mind. Although they were
empty of independent existence, they appeared and functioned, although
their appearance was deceptive. For example, despite there being
no independent "I" to be found, for convenience sake the
label "I" could be used to indicate the constantly changing
body and mind involved in the decision-making process. When looking
for a solid "I" to make a decision, all that was seen
was an interweaving flow of diverse mental factors that arose and
ceased. When looking for a real decision to be made, there were
only changing moments of awareness holding a similar idea. Yet,
in dependence on this, it could still be said "I made a decision."
By now my mind was relaxed and spacious. I
was still a long way from directly realizing emptiness, and my conceptual
understanding still needed to be refined. Nevertheless this reflection
on emptiness had helped me to let go of my self-created fears. I
took a deep breath and began to chant Chenresig's mantra. The decision
was clear, the block had evaporated, and I approached the unknown
with commitment and joy.
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