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Reactivity and Non Reactivity - Tanya Wiser

The following talk was given by Tanya Wiser at Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, CA on April 15, 2024. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Reactivity and Non Reactivity

It is nice to meet those of you I don't know. I teach on "Dharma Practice Thursdays" at 6:30, so come by sometime if you would like to connect. We do small group discussions, and it is another way to get to know your Sangha¹.

I am a student of Gil Fronsdal² and Andrea Fella³. I am in the four-year teacher training program that is currently finishing its third year. I am a student and child of the Dharma⁴ at IMC; this is my Dharma home.

Martha, I appreciate you bringing up the center being Dana-based⁵. I was feeling a sense of awe and wonder yesterday as I was thinking about coming to teach today. I didn't have to tell anybody I was coming, I didn't have to arrange a place to offer the teachings, and I didn't have to pay for anything. There is all this stuff I didn't have to do because of the way the center operates—everything is freely offered.

So, Martha, thank you. Thank you, Vany. Thank you, Hillary, and the tea folks, and everyone organizing the walks. Absolutely everything here—the paint on the wall, the carpet—all of it is Dana. The building itself is Dana, born out of generosity because the people before us wanted us here. They wanted you here. I am grateful to the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha, including this Sangha.

What I want to talk about today is reactivity and non-reactivity. To me, this is a big topic, and it is tied to a lot in the Dharma. Reactivity is a pretty unpleasant thing, isn't it? It is really uncomfortable. I feel very yanked around when I am being reactive. Inevitably, I walk away feeling remorseful or regretful. I wonder, "Why couldn't I just be still? Why couldn't I just meet this moment without adding all this flopping around?"

Really, this is why I came to the practice—because I was not able to meet what was happening in my life. It was too hard. Things were falling apart, and it was just too painful. I kept reacting and reacting. There was so much I wasn't able to meet. I kept trying; I would say, "Okay, I want to be calm and talk about this," or "I want to respond kindly." But the feelings inside were just so intense.

One of the relationships in my life that has really motivated me to practice is my relationship with my kids. It is really important to me; I want to be a good mom. I wanted to be a mom who could meet her kids where they were, to make them feel like I trusted them and believed in them. I kept failing because my reactivity would get in the way of the message I was trying to deliver.

When I finally came to the practice because of so much reactivity, I was pretty motivated. I dove right in and went on retreats almost right away. Over and over again, I realized there is another way to meet this life.

The Fish Flopping Around

I was recently thinking about this, remembering an image that I had been taught from one of the Suttas⁶ early in my practice. The image was of a fish flopping around. Doesn't that sound like reactivity? Like a fish flopping around on the ground in a puddle. That is exactly what I felt inside of myself—this fish that was just relentlessly flopping around.

I looked up the Sutta again recently to share it with you. The Buddha does an amazing job of providing these similes, images, and metaphors for what we experience in our inner life. This is an example of one of those similes that has really stayed with me. There is something so visceral about it. For me, the practice is an experience to engage with, so these kinds of similes are helpful. When I feel it, I am reminded of the Dharma. May this Sutta be there inside of you, deeply connected to whatever your version of a fish flopping around is.

The Sutta is called the Attadanda Sutta⁷. It has been interpreted by a number of Pali⁸ scholars. Some call it "The Rod Embraced," some call it "Arming Oneself," and another name is "The Thorn in Your Heart." This is a Sutta the Buddha gives when he is called to deal with a conflict in the community. He shares a lot about his own emotional response to conflict; it is quite touching.

While the Sutta is about external conflict between people, I invite you to feel into this as internal conflict as well. We can take up arms against others, but we also take them up against ourselves. We might not take up physical arms against others, but if we take up arms in our mind about somebody—if I am angry at somebody—we have an internal experience that results in suffering.

If I think about myself critically, my image of myself becomes akin to an enemy. When I think about myself, my physiology responds as if I am a threat. So please don't limit yourself to thinking this is only about people who fight with other people. If there is any degree of inner conflict or inner criticism—if you have an inner critic, which I imagine you all do—this applies to you.

I have mixed a number of different translations together here.

"When embraced, the rod of violence breeds danger and fear. Fear is born from arming oneself. Just see how many people fight! I'll tell you about the dreadful fear that caused me to shake all over. Seeing creatures flopping around like fish in water too shallow, so hostile to one another. Seeing this, I became afraid."

Another translation of those lines reads:

"I saw this population flounder like fish in a little puddle. Seeing them fight each other, fear came upon me. The world around was hollow. All directions were in turmoil. Wanting a home for myself, I saw nowhere."

He also says in another translation, "It trembles in all directions, this world."

"Seeing people locked in conflict, I became completely distraught."

Who here has felt distraught seeing the conflict in the world? Me too.

"I longed to find myself a place unscathed, but I could not see it. Seeing people locked in conflict, I became completely distraught. But then I discerned here a thorn hard to see, lodged deep in the heart."

What does this bring up for you, this idea of a thorn in the heart? Typically, it is greed, hatred, and delusion. It is craving and clinging.

"It is only when pierced by this thorn that one runs in all directions. And if that thorn is taken out, one does not run and settles down."

There is another translation: "When struck by that dart, you run around in all directions." I like the dart image because it reminds me of the arrow simile. "But when that same dart has been plucked out, you neither run around nor sink down." I like that too—"run around or sink down." I have seen this where there is this running-around reactivity, acting out and trying to escape, and then there is a giving up or giving in that is like a sinking down—a complete, sunken place.

One title of this text is "The Rod Embraced." The rod symbolizes taking up arms. The simile should be understood to mean that the rod of violence has three forms: physical, verbal, and mental. This goes to the words we use toward others and ourselves, the way we treat ourselves and others physically, and the way we imagine things—the views and opinions we create.

One interpreter says the cause of this is "the misplaced wish for security driven by desire."

The Sutta goes on to talk about the solution, which covers all the ways we learn to let go in this practice. A sage should be truthful, overcome greed, and overcome the hindrances (such as sloth and torpor). They should not sink into false speech. They should understand greed as a great deluge, stand close to the truth, develop wisdom, and transcend the desire for sensual pleasure. Let what is gone be gone. Be free of cruelty.

And, not seeing oneself as any of the following: not seeing oneself as equal, inferior, or superior.

Welcome back, baby. I love the sound meditation this morning. So sweet.

Comparison and Equality

Is that hard to imagine—not seeing oneself as equal, inferior, or superior?

Audience Member (Genie): I have something that I learned from psychology, but I've never heard anything from this perspective.

I can tell you how I interpret it, Genie. Thank you.

Our language is quite binary; it is very much "this or that." When we think about being equal, we want somebody else to be equal to us. There is a real math equation here, a sense that you can weigh two things on a scale and they weigh the same. But we don't weigh the same. Our experiences can't be commodified in that way.

If we can go beyond this idea of mathematical equations and simply think about the uniqueness of each being, there is no way to measure "equality" in that sense. It is not that one is more important or less important—both are important. If we can see people as unique and special, we are going to be much more inclined to be curious about what makes you you and what makes me me.

Don't Make It Worse

One of the teachings I grabbed onto when I was more reactive was simply: Don't make it worse.

It is a really good teaching. I remember hearing teachers talk about trying to sit and be with whatever came up—turn towards your experience with curiosity, don't try and change it, be with your suffering. When I was first practicing, I couldn't be with my own mind for more than five minutes. Five minutes was the maximum. I would try and sit, and it was hard to sit still. It was hard to sit with what was coming up in my own mind and not be flopping around like a fish. I wanted to get away from what I was feeling. I wanted to feel calm, at ease, and happy. I was not.

So, the idea of not making it worse was like, "Okay, if I am reactive this much, can I just not make it worse? Can I not be more reactive to my reactivity?"

Those words woke something up in me. This vision of the fish came alive, and I started to feel the fish more and more. I could feel the reactivity as something going on inside, instead of it just being everything—my whole experience.

It is really hard to listen, to be receptive, and impossible to love when we are flopping around like fish. When we are trying to escape from what we are feeling, we cannot love because our attention and energy are fully consumed with trying to get away. Sometimes in life, we are asked to sit through things that are hideously difficult. I want to love through those things, too. I really do.

One of the crown jewels of the practice is developing wisdom—understanding this heart-mind complex. Understanding what is happening will bring peace to the mind. Once you understand how precious the process is of being able to look, see, and understand from the perspective of what the Buddha teaches, joy becomes more possible, and we feel more motivated to keep looking.

Tracking Dukkha

We come to understand what is happening inside of us with this fish wiggling and jiggling around, trying to get air. Maybe the simplest way to understand it is through Dukkha⁹. If you were here the last time I spoke, you know how I feel about Dukkha. I gave a talk a couple of months ago called "Becoming a Dukkha Tracker."

Dukkha is the Pali word for suffering. It is said the Buddha taught suffering and the end of suffering—the whole continuum. Suffering can be translated in a huge range, from very subtle—like a fabric rubbing a little on your skin—to the fish flopping around in a war.

I like to use the word Dukkha because it has a different context for me than the word "suffering," which I don't really like (maybe because I don't like to suffer). There are other translations that can be useful: stress, pain, and one teacher, Lee Brasington¹⁰, suggested the term "bummer."

I happen to love that because it communicates our attitude toward the suffering. When you find yourself thinking, "That's a bummer," you realize, "Oh, I'm clinging. There is something here I don't like."

The cause of Dukkha is clinging. For me, I am so grateful for my Dukkha. I was thinking this morning, "Who am I to think that I should take anyone's Dukkha away?" I needed my Dukkha. I needed that stress and pain to wake me up to what I have been clinging to. So, may I let you all have your Dukkha.

Dukkha itself is a guide. It is pointing to the fact that I am clinging. It is a symptom of clinging. When I cling, it hurts. So when I feel that pain, discomfort, or stress, I can stop and look in the mind, heart, and body to ask myself: Why do I want it to be different right now? What am I clinging to? Is it a view, an opinion, a belief?

Three Kinds of Clinging

The Buddha taught three kinds of clinging:

1. Clinging to Sensuality: Wanting to feel good. Food tasting good. "Bummer, this dinner sucks." "Okay, clinging to wanting it to taste better." There is a natural amount of wanting to be comfortable, and it is really okay that we want pleasant things. From birth, babies know what they want and don't want. They go toward what they want and push away what they don't want. This is part of being a living being; it is how we survive. Clinging to sensuality—wanting to enjoy life and feel good—is fine. It is when we start to really cling that we get in trouble.
2. Clinging to Becoming: This is like wanting to become an Olympic swimmer at fifty-six. How likely is that? Not at all. But I have this vision, this wish. We imagine it, fantasize about it, and get caught up in this idea of becoming something. It triggers a lot of mental fabrication and story-making.
3. Clinging to Non-Becoming: This is the opposite. It is really painful. If you have social anxiety, you go into a room and want to disappear; you don't want to be there. Or feeling suicidal—not wanting to be alive anymore. This is clinging to non-becoming: not wanting to be the person that makes this mistake, or does that thing.

This is not to say that I shouldn't want to become a great swimmer, or that you shouldn't want to become a great meditator. Keep your desires, but get rid of your cravings. Hold it all lightly.

The Raft Simile

There is a teaching on the raft where the Buddha talks about building a raft to cross the floods of greed, hatred, and delusion—to get from the shore of suffering to the shore free of suffering. We need to get across. My view is that we build this raft by creating a mental state that allows us to stay present, aware, and non-reactive—putting enough energy into getting across to have clarity.

When you get to the other side, what do you do with the raft? Do you put it on your head and carry it around with you everywhere you go? No, you leave it on the shore because you have crossed over. You used something to get where you needed to go.

The same is true with the desires that we hold. We need to want to meditate. It takes commitment, effort, hope, and faith to do this practice. It is not an easy practice.

Transforming the Hurt

There is a poem by Rumi¹¹:

The hurt you embrace becomes joy. Call it to your arms where it can change. A silkworm eating leaves makes a cocoon. Each of us weaves a chamber of leaves and sticks. Silkworms begin to truly exist as they disappear inside that room. Without legs, we fly.

Gil will talk about practicing with open hands, allowing whatever it is that we are working with to sit there like a bird. Then, when it is ready to go, it goes. We are not holding onto it or trying to keep it, but we are giving it this nurturing space to come in and do what it needs to do and transform on its own.

When we stop fighting the way things are, we have access to love and joy. When we block parts of our experience—when we try to resist difficult emotions or experiences—we end up blocking both the difficult and the beautiful.

Pema Chödrön¹² says:

"Fear is a universal experience. Even the smallest insect feels it. We wade into tidal pools and put our finger near the soft, open bodies of sea anemones and they close up. Everything spontaneously does that. It's not a terrible thing that we feel fear when we're faced with the unknown. It is part of being alive, something we all share...

Embarking on the spiritual journey is like getting into a very small boat and setting out on the ocean to search for unknown lands. With wholehearted practice comes inspiration, but sooner or later we will also encounter fear. For all we know, when we get to the horizon, we're going to drop off the edge of the world."

Like all explorers, we are drawn to discover what is waiting out there, yet not knowing if we have the courage to face it.

There are ten thousand joys and ten thousand sorrows in this life. We can't block the sorrows without blocking the joys. It is a crazy ride out there. If we try to control it, we are just depriving ourselves. It is not possible anyway. So, sit down, buckle up, and take resolve to just be there and open to what is happening in our lives, even when it is not what we want. Even when it is what we are terrified of.

Who am I to take away somebody's suffering? Who am I to take away that which could liberate someone if they have wisdom?

Rumi again:

The moment you accept what troubles you've been given, the door will open. Welcome difficulty as a familiar comrade. Joke with torment brought by the friend. Sorrows are the rags of old clothes and jackets that serve to cover, then are taken off. That undressing, and the beautiful naked body underneath, is the sweetness that comes after grief.

The hurt you embrace becomes joy. Maybe we can learn the value of staying present, engaged, and available to life. We can learn how to welcome more and more aspects of life—the beautiful and the difficult. This is how we don't make it worse. Minute by minute, moment by moment, just don't make it worse.

I will close with one last poem by Rosemary Wahtola Trommer¹³, called "Skiing Into the Storm."

I love the days when it feels right to not turn from the storm, but to move deeper in. When the body doesn't shy from the cold and wind. When the smile arrives as the storm magnifies, and a whoop rises from the lungs like a fierce and hearty bird. What is it in us that feels more alive in these moments?

Thank you for your kind attention.