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From Predictions to Presence - Diana Clark

The following talk was given by Diana Clark at Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, CA on November 12, 2024. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

From Predictions to Presence

Good evening. Welcome.

The other day I was talking with somebody who was convinced about how the future was going to be. They had a certain amount of certainty, saying, "This is going to happen, and then this is going to happen, and that's going to happen." I was struck by that. I wondered, "How do you know?" Of course, we can imagine how things are going to be, but why did they have such a sense of certainty? This individual had a lot of emotion around it too. So, I have been thinking about this idea of certainty.

Recently, I had some discomfort on my face, and I thought, "Oh, it's that tooth." I made up this whole story. My dad, my brother, and I just don't have good teeth; we have all these dental issues. I had a whole narrative: "There is this pain, which means this, which means that, and then this is going to happen. Oh my gosh." I knew it was a story. I knew I was making it up, but there was a way that I was invested in it. I thought, "Because it means this, then I'm going to have to do that," and all this kind of stuff. Because I had this story, I called the dentist. I went to the dentist, and they asked, "Have you had any problems with your sinuses lately?"

Those of you in the room here might have heard me cough. It is not uncommon this time of year; I have some allergies that come up. It was just sinuses. Of course, I had the certainty that it was going to be a certain tooth and this whole story about it, but it turned out not to be that way.

Today is Veterans Day, November 11th. I guess this holiday started out as Armistice Day way back when, celebrating the end of World War I. It was celebrating the end of the war that was going to end all wars. That had maybe a certainty or a certain optimism, but there have been wars since World War I. So, this predicting of the future turns out not to work so well.

Sometimes it works well, but when we are facing uncertainty—which turns out to be all the time, though we somehow neglect to remember that—we make assumptions. Based on those assumptions, we make predictions. "I'm assuming it's my tooth because it's the same tooth I had problems with." I predict that something very uncomfortable is going to happen at the dentist's office. This is a perfectly legitimate thing to do; it is what humans do. This is partly why we have discursive thinking. Our minds and brains have been trained to make some assumptions and predictions.

However, we are making assumptions so often, in so many ways and in so many places. There is an implicit assumption that things will be similar to how they were before. Maybe that underlies so many of our days. We think, "Yeah, it'll be like how it was yesterday in some kind of way."

I am reminded of when I use a digital assistant and ask, "What's the weather?" It will say, "Later today will be more of the same." It feels like every day it says, "Later today will be more of the same." I am exaggerating—it is not every day—but it is not uncommon for it to be that way here in California. So, we are often thinking, "Oh, tomorrow will be more of the same. The day after that will be more of the same." We assume that there is this degree of stability, this degree of sameness in our lives, and we take for granted the continuity of so many different things. We assume the continuity of our possessions—that our car is going to start in the morning, or that the computer is not going to die in the middle of some critical activity. For the most part, we can rely on these things these days.

We assume the continuity of our physical well-being. Nobody wakes up in the morning thinking, "Oh, I'm going to get in a car accident this afternoon." Nobody thinks, "I'm going to get a terrible diagnosis," or "Somebody close to me is going to get a terrible diagnosis." And then, of course, we are making predictions based on this.

But what happens when things turn out not the way that we have planned? What happens when things completely unexpected happen? Or maybe it is not so unexpected; we had some assumptions, we made some predictions, and then those predictions turn out to be wildly inaccurate—or maybe even just a little bit inaccurate. Just their degree of inaccuracy makes us feel uncomfortable. "Oh, why didn't I see that coming? I should have paid more attention to this thing or that thing."

I grew up here in California. Those of you who have been here a long time know this idea of earthquakes. I grew up with this idea that any moment now there is going to be an earthquake. When I was in school, we hid under our desks for earthquake drills. There are certain things I do: I keep a certain amount of water and food at home, certain things charged up, and I don't let my car get down to an empty tank. I do all this just because I think, "Well, there may be an earthquake and I need to prepare."

What do we do when we are prepared, or when we are making predictions based on what we think are valid assumptions, and yet something really unexpected happens? Even if it is just mildly unexpected, noticing that things aren't the way that we were anticipating them to be can touch a deeper sense of insecurity. It touches a deeper sense of recognizing that we don't control things. We are vulnerable. There is not a place where you can be completely, 100% safe, guaranteed, all the time. That doesn't exist.

We don't like to feel this. We don't like to feel the vulnerability, the sense of insecurity, or the sense that things are out of control. So often, we will respond in a myriad of ways.

One response is that we just feel like, "Oh no, I need some certainty. I need something that I can really hold on to and count on and plan with." We think, "I have got to find some certainty," and we look to find it in whatever way makes sense for us. We might become fixated on finding the "Truth"—the absolute truth—because then we can hold on to that, and that won't let us down. Or we look for the precise rules: "What's okay? What's not okay? Don't give me any of this gray business. I just want to know if it's perfectly black or perfectly white." We get fixated on trying to remove all sense of doubt or uncertainty.

It is fascinating how looking for this certainty—this wanting to find certainty—perpetuates uncertainty. The more we look and think, "I got to find this in order to feel okay," and we don't find it, the more it can lead to a spiral of, "Wait, this isn't reliable. This isn't reliable."

We might respond by craving certainty and really trying to find out which spiritual tradition is the best one, the true one. Which teacher is the best? Which practice is the best? Which meditative experience is the best? We might start looking for these types of things.

Or maybe we just start searching for information. When we discover some uncertainty, we might overly rely on the opinions or views of other people. "Okay, well surely they must know more than I do." We might seek validation or guidance from other people. This can be a wise thing to do, but there can be a way in which we are giving our own authority or discernment over to other people, thinking, "Well, this person knows whatever they say." We think, "Well, I clearly don't have it. I'm filled with doubt and I'm not quite sure how things go, but this person claims that they do, or they look like they do, so I'll just look at what they are saying."

Maybe we are just consuming information through the news or social media. We have created a whole society that is just filled with this: "You want information? Here you go." It is astonishing how much information there is, and it is also astonishing how much of it conflicts. There are incompatible views going on. This wish for certainty ends up leading to even more agitation. We look for information, but then ask, "Wait, which one is right?" This fuels the sense of insecurity that we often have.

All of us do this to some degree. When we have some new medical symptom, we Google it. "What are the...?" We look up the symptoms to see what it means: "Is it time to go to the doctor? What should I do about it?"

Maybe there is a way in which we buy into conspiracy theories because part of their allure is, "Nope, this is the truth. Everything else is wrong. Just ignore all that other stuff." Maybe it is the same reason why people join cults: "This is true and everything else is wrong." This feeling of uncertainty, vulnerability, and insecurity is uncomfortable. It is really uncomfortable.

Some other ways of responding include fear. "What's going to happen? I don't know." This fear of the unknown is natural. Recognizing, "Wait, if I'm not so good at predicting, I don't even know what to think about this," can bring up fear. But the fear can lead to agitation or paralysis. People do awful things based out of fear, or they do nothing out of fear and avoidance.

If things turn out not to be the way we assumed, maybe there is some anger. Maybe there is a sense of betrayal: "Wait, I thought it was going to go this way and it turns out to go a different direction." Then there is this anger over having to blame somebody. Sometimes we blame ourselves. "Why didn't I pay attention to the signs? Why didn't I know? It would have turned out the way I thought if only those other people didn't do X, Y, and Z." When things don't turn out the way we are anticipating, we often look outside of us—looking for information, blaming others, trying to find the answers "out there."

The truth is, there really is uncertainty. Of course, there are likelihoods, but the human mind often overlooks the inherent uncertainty of life. We are never guaranteed that things are going to turn out the way that we plan, anticipate, or expect.

If we had to admit that things are uncertain, we would see they arise due to causes and conditions. But what are all these causes and conditions? I don't know. You don't know. Nobody knows all of the reasons why things happen. People over here will say, "Well, it happened because of A, B, and C," and people over there will say, "No, it happened because of X, Y, and Z." Maybe it happened because of element O and P. A bunch of things come together to make everything happen.

I am sitting here because I didn't die today. I didn't think I was going to die—I don't know if people usually are thinking that—but there are so many things that came together for me to just be here, and for you to be here listening to a talk. There wasn't a family emergency that I was required to take care of. I wasn't away at another retreat teaching. I didn't get in an accident on the way here. All these things that we don't assume are going to happen didn't happen, allowing me to be here, and allowing each one of you individually to be here. The microphone system had to work, and the lights had to work. How many of you were here when there wasn't any power? That was a whole different situation.

We often overlook this inherent uncertainty. Partly because it is uncomfortable, but it also really highlights how we don't control nearly as much as we think we do. This feeling of things being uncontrollable is uncomfortable. We like to think, "I can make my own destiny. I can make things be a particular way. I can influence outcomes. I can make things happen." We can help create the conditions that change the likelihood of things happening, but there is no guarantee that there is not something else that is going to arise that we didn't anticipate.

The Buddha talked about this idea of unreliability. He pointed to this as one of the core teachings. Really understanding this and aligning with it is a way towards greater peace, ease, and freedom. The Buddha talked about how things are changing, inconstant, and impermanent.

Sometimes we hear this and think, "Oh yeah, of course." It is fall now; the leaves are falling from the trees. Things change. It wasn't fall a few months ago; the leaves were a different color. We just feel like, "Okay, yeah, that's change." But he was pointing to how everything is actually changing. There isn't anything that is inert or completely stable in the sense that it will be the same until the end of time. The timeframe on which things are changing is different, but everything is changing.

We are changing too. All of us have heard about how the cells in the body change every seven years—I don't know if this is true or not—but our minds are changing. We are learning things every day. We are making assumptions, and our assumptions are supporting predictions.

Even if the bell seems like it is exactly the same, the person who is ringing the bell is maybe a little bit different. I learned recently at a retreat center I was teaching at how delicate one needs to be with the striker. So now maybe the experience of the bell isn't exactly the same because I am a little bit different and I am striking it a little bit differently. You might say, "But the bell looks the same." But is the way something looks everything about the bell? Maybe it sounds different.

Things change. That was only one of the characteristics the Buddha talked about. There are three characteristics. One is the changing nature (anicca). Following from that is dukkha¹, the unsatisfactory nature. Because things can't be reliably predicted, there is a sense of uneasiness that goes with this. There is nothing that is not changing. Change is the constant. So, there can't be this source of reliable happiness in the way that we are looking for it.

Then, the fact that we can't control it (anatta). We can't control ourselves. We can't stop aging. We can't stop getting sinus issues. We can't stop illnesses; they arise even though we might be doing our best to protect ourselves. This lack of control—the fact that we can't completely control this human experience—the Buddha pointed to this too. It is partly what he is talking about regarding a "self." He is saying that if there were a self the way that it was being defined at his time in ancient India—and partly how we can understand it in contemporary times—then a self would be something that we could control. If it is actually yours, you could control it. That is part of the definition of something that you own. Well, we don't completely control this self. How many times have you had thoughts that you didn't want to have or weren't expecting to have? Or emotions that you didn't want to have? As I said, this body is doing its own thing.

So what do we do about this? This is partly why we have spiritual practices: to help us be with some of these difficulties—this feeling of insecurity, uncontrollability, and vulnerability. Part of spiritual practice is to recognize these difficulties and say, "Yeah, this is uncomfortable." Not to repress it, not to deny it, not to gaslight ourselves and pretend, "Oh no, no, that's nothing." But instead to say, "No, yeah, this... ouch. I don't like this at all."

Part of a spiritual practice is to be able to see clearly, to see, "Okay, this actually is the reality," and to be able to meet it and hold it in a way that makes one's life fuller and richer. It brings some beauty and grace to one's life as opposed to collapsing or trying to make something completely different.

Spiritual practice allows us to have a mature response when we notice that things didn't turn out the way we thought they were going to. A mature response says, "It didn't turn out the way that I wanted," and does not collapse. But it also doesn't go the opposite way and say, "Well, everything's uncontrollable and unpredictable, therefore I'm not going to bother wearing a seatbelt, or a helmet, or exercise and eat well." We shouldn't say, "We don't know what's going to happen, so why should I even bother to do things that might provide some safety?"

A mature response is to recognize we don't actually know. So we plan, and recognize we don't know if it is going to work out that way. We take precautions, and recognize it is not a guarantee it is going to protect us.

Aligning ourselves with this truth of impermanence, the truth of uncertainty, is a way that actually provides security. It is not by finding that one thing that we can hold on to like, "Okay great, I found it, I don't have to search anymore." Instead, just recognize that things are always changing.

It is about our relationship to that. Can we hold our expectations lightly? Can we still make them, but recognize them as expectations? Recognize them as predictions based on assumptions that may or may not be true? Hold them lightly. And then let go of all these attempts to control things that actually we can't control. Letting go of trying to control other people. Have you tried it? Did it work? Do you like it when people try to control you? I don't. I have this little inner rebellious person inside that just roars when something of that kind is trying to happen.

So how do we work with this uncertainty and align ourselves with the truth of impermanence? I am using this word "truth" holding it lightly. Let go of the attempts to control things that are beyond our control.

One thing that will support us in doing this is a mindfulness practice. Just be present for our lives. Just be present for recognizing that the stories and fabrications we are making about the future are 100% fabricated. They are not based out of nothing, most likely, but just recognize, "Oh yeah, this is a story I'm making up about what this pain means."

Mindfulness practice also helps us to notice the changing nature of things. Those of you who are familiar with the Satipatthana Sutta² know this is the key text in Buddhist literature that points to a mindfulness practice. There is a refrain that gets repeated about 13 times, and it talks about noticing impermanence, noticing the changing nature of things. This can be a real practice that can be really beneficial: just to notice how things are fluid, they are not constant. When we notice that, there is just this natural loosening of the grip that we have on things, on how we expect things to be or how we want them to be.

Mindfulness will also help us see the way in which we are often, maybe in a subtle way, wrestling with our experience. "No, it should be this other way. I predicted it to be this way. I want it to be this way." We are pushing against experience and trying to morph it into the way that we think it should be. I am not saying that we shouldn't make changes, but it starts with just recognizing: "Okay, here's the truth of the moment. Here's the reality. Here's how I'm responding to it—I don't like it, I want it to be different." Starting from there, then go with the next thing. Often we don't even notice how much we are trying to push and pull against our experience.

So we can practice mindfulness to notice the changing nature of things and notice how much we are trying to control.

I would also say to nourish our inner lives. It is so much easier to have some stability and uprightness—I am using uprightness figuratively, to be able to sit upright instead of collapsing—when something unexpected and unwanted happens if we are nourishing our inner lives. What do I mean by that? Do something that feeds the heart. Being in nature, looking at beauty. For some of you, maybe it is meaningful to have a devotional practice, or maybe something as simple as lighting a candle before you meditate. Maybe some of you have an altar with things that are meaningful for you. Maybe some of you have a chanting practice, or maybe just singing or dancing.

It is so much easier to meet difficulties if there is a part of us that feels nourished. Sometimes when we are feeling this insecurity and things aren't quite right, we go looking for information. As I was talking about, information can help a little bit, but I am pointing to also these other ways.

For me, I love to be hiking with redwood trees. I am out there a few times a week as much as I can. If I am hiking with somebody else, I can't help but say, "Wow, it's so great to be here." I just feel so lucky to be living in the Bay Area. We have these amazing redwood trees that I feel nourished and supported by.

This uncertainty brings promise and beauty also. I was talking about how it can be a bummer if you are expecting one thing and then something different shows up. But there is this way that poetry and art—the ones that really touch us, in my view—have this combination of the familiar and yet a little extra something that is unexpected. That brings a little bit of delight. Or maybe there is a sense of freshness if we are tuning into this sense of, "Yeah, things aren't as predictable." This freshness brings a certain aliveness to our life. Maybe there is a way in which we would have some curiosity about, "Oh, I'm not quite sure what the day is going to bring. I have this idea it's going to have A, B, and C, but I'm not quite sure." Be engaged with your life, instead of just checking off "A, B, and C, here we go," which is easy to do. This uncertainty brings some of this promise and beauty also.

I will end with this poem. It is called "Never the Same" by Rosemary Wahtola Trommer.

Never the Same by Rosemary Wahtola Trommer

Sometimes a person wakes believing they are a storm. It’s hard to deny it, what with all the rain pouring out of the gutters of the mind, all the gusts blowing through, all the squalls, all the gray. But by afternoon, it seems obvious they are a garden about to sprout. By night, it is clear they are a moon— luminous, radiant, faithful. That’s the danger, I suppose, of believing any frame.

Let me believe, then, in curiosity, in wonder, in change. Let me trust how essential it is to stumble into the trough of the unknown, marvel how trough becomes wings, becomes faith, becomes math. Let me trust uncertainty is a sacred path.

I love this notion of the stumble into the trough of the unknown, and then marvel how trough becomes wings. Things are unfolding. This changing business, this unpredictability—when we are in the trough, we are not expecting them to become wings, but they do. Things like change. They become known. And then she says "trough becomes wings, becomes faith, becomes math." For me, I am interpreting math as, "Oh yeah, okay, now we can make predictions based on this." The likelihoods, the probability—those of you who took statistics, we could just turn it into a probability problem. It becomes known and becomes something from which we can build upon in our life.

So maybe we could think about this idea of moving from prediction about how things are going to be, to presence—to being with how things are now. And part of the way that they are now is uncertain.

Discussion

Participant: I was thinking about uncertainty for me. I feel like in certain parts of my life, I really like uncertainty. Those are probably things I enjoy doing. I love that I'm cooking without a recipe and I don't know how it's going to taste, or I'm dancing with this band I've never heard before and I like that. So I was thinking maybe I can think about that, and then the areas of uncertainty that I don't like, maybe that will help me loosen up a bit about it. I have kind of a thing about parking in San Francisco. I know I have a problem with this, like "Why am I anxious? It always works out somehow." But I'm just thinking maybe if I can think about areas of my life where I'm totally comfortable with uncertainty, I can open up more in those areas where I don't like the uncertainty.

Diana Clark: I was struck by your small comment about parking in San Francisco: "It seems to always work out." It is interesting to notice that things often aren't turning out the way that we planned or expected, but they did turn out in some other way, whether we liked it or not. Things are always unfolding, and we work with them—or not. If we don't work with them, then we are stuck and filled with anger.

But just this recognition that things are always unfolding. Now that I say this, maybe it sounds silly, but things are always unfolding. Is there a way we can just trust that what is going to happen next is going to happen next, whether we like it or don't like it? Is there a way that we can have some confidence? Maybe part of how we gain that confidence is just by noticing, "Oh yeah, things are always changing, not in the way that we expect." But I like what you said about other places where it is fine—cooking, dancing, I like it. Parking? Not so much.

Thank you. I think this is the end of our time here. Thank you for your kind attention and wishing you a wonderful rest of the evening.