Letting It Really Sink In - the Student's Path

gokulkr · February 24, 2005

by Trish Deitch Rohrer

They say it’s as difficult for the dharma to penetrate the heart of a student as it is for a flower to grow on a rock. It’s not that we can’t intellectually grasp the concepts the Buddha taught—we can. But when it comes to taking the Buddha’s teachings in deeply enough so that they cut through our confusion and ignorance, we may fall short. To practice Buddhism, we have to change not only our minds, but our lives. How do we do that? How do we make ourselves truly receptive to the teachings, so that they deeply root themselves in us, like a flower in fertile soil? We asked four teachers of various traditions, who talked about this from their own experience as teachers and as students themselves.

—Trish Deitch Rohrer

Judy Lief -

Our Obstacles Are the Path

What can we do as students to help the dharma penetrate? What did you do?

The first thing I remember learning—and I think it’s the first important thing—is how ignorant I was. Because what really keeps the dharma from penetrating is thinking that you know anything. I think there’s some kind of humbling process, or surrendering process, that really provides the initial entryway: you realize that your solid perceptions aren’t that solid, that your discipline isn’t that disciplined, that your delusions of being in control of your mind and your life are completely wishful thinking. That kind of stripping-down process seems essential.

I remember years ago there was a group of about five women having an audience with Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche in Boulder. One of the questions that came up was, “How come we can see all these patterns so clearly—more and more we see the nature of our neurosis, what our hangups are, what our problems are, etc.—but seeing them doesn’t help?” In other words, even though we see what we’re doing, we still do it. So we were all very earnestly saying, “O.K. We were fine before when we were totally ignorant, and now we’re semi-ignorant and we see everything we’re doing wrong, but we still keep doing it. So what do we do now?"

And what did he say?

He refused to answer. He just cracked up. He thought it was really funny, that we were so worried about all this. I mean, part of the definition of being caught in the human realm, the realm of passion, is always feeling inadequate and hoping to change—getting caught up in all sorts of self-improvement schemes. In some ways all of that stuff just digs us further into our fundamental dilemma of always trying to get out.

That Khyentse Rinpoche audience is quite haunting, because there’s something really off about dwelling in concern about that. Not to diminish the importance of real obstacles, but there’s something fishy about taking the obstacles as something outside of what we have to work with. You know, making a distinction between what’s on the path and what’s off the path.

You mean, we think the obstacles are off the path, when in fact they’re part of it?

They are the path. Which is a tricky thing, because one could easily say, “Well, in that case, I’m just going to kick back and enjoy my obstacles.” But there has to be something beyond always trying to get rid of who we actually are, as though that particular person can’t progress along the path, when a superior person could.

I have another example. Years ago when Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche wanted me to start teaching, I really didn’t want to. I had stage fright, and I’d throw up and get sweaty palms before I had to give a talk. My fear was a huge obstacle: my fear, my embarrassment, my pathetic-ness. But I had to keep teaching, because Rinpoche kept asking me to. And then at some point I realized that it really didn’t matter that I felt afraid. It didn’t matter whether or not I got over my fear. I just needed to keep giving talks. I had to. So if there was fear, there was fear, if there wasn’t, there wasn’t—who cares? There was a sense of thinking of others, which is also really important in relating to obstacles. Because we get so self-fixated. I realized that my obstacles were not the most important issue. In fact, there was some kind of honesty—some kind of rawness—that came along with the fear, which was actually a good thing.

But, unlike fear, when the obstacle is ignorance, you don’t even know it’s there.

Ignorance has a quality of invulnerability. You don’t feel vulnerable when you’re really ignorant. You actually feel you’re right. Or you feel helpless. Whatever your view is, it’s totally solid. You could say that another aspect of all of this is that your vulnerable points may be where things open up a little bit.

So it might make sense to move towards your vulnerability?

Exactly. And when you’re feeling invulnerable, you might be wise to be a little suspicious...