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Practicing with the Four Elements Changes Our Perspective - Diana Clark

The following talk was given by Diana Clark at Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, CA on April 23, 2024. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Practicing with the Four Elements Changes Our Perspective

Good evening, and welcome everybody. It is nice to see you all practice together. It is a beautiful thing.

Happy Earth Day. Today is Earth Day, and it is so beautiful outside. There are flowers growing. Last week, I went to Arizona to teach a retreat, and afterwards, I went to some national parks—of course I did while I was in the neighborhood. It was just so great to see these parks, so I am kind of filled up with the beauty of nature.

On that theme, I wanted to talk about nature a little bit, but I will start with a short poem by Galway Kinnell¹. He was an American poet and the Pulitzer Prize winner for poetry in 1983. This poem points to some of the same things I would like to point to in this talk.

The poem is called "Daybreak." I listened to a recording of Galway Kinnell reading this, and he did a great job; I really loved how he read it. He mentioned that he wrote this poem after spending some time on the Great Barrier Reef outside of Australia, where he would go for walks on the shore.

Daybreak by Galway Kinnell

On the tidal mud, just before sunset, dozens of starfishes were creeping. It was as though the mud were a sky and enormous, imperfect stars moved across it as slowly as the actual stars cross heaven. All at once they stopped, and as if they had simply increased their receptivity to gravity they sank down into the mud; they faded down into it and lay still; and by the time pink of sunset broke across them they were as invisible as the true stars at daybreak.

He is very simply describing a bunch of starfish moving across the mud. Being a poet, he links the starfish to stars in the sky. He is pointing to a few things in this poem. One is a real change in perspective. Usually, when we think of stars, we think of them up in the sky, but he is talking about them crawling on the mud as if it were the sky. There is value in seeing things from a different perspective; we see things differently when we look at them through a different lens.

He is also linking these starfish with stars in the sky. Not only do they have the same name, but they are doing some of the same things. There is this movement across the heavens or this movement across the mud. In the same way the starfish sink into the mud, there is a way the stars seem to sink into the sky as daybreak arrives. He highlights the commonality of these disparate things. Usually, we don't link aquatic creatures with what is in the heavens, but here he makes this connection.

In the Buddhist teachings, there are also these types of connections. First, there is the value of looking at things from a different perspective. Second, there is the practice of seeing the commonality—the shared nature—of just about everything. This shift of perspective, seeing what is similar, turns out to be really powerful.

One way we can see this is in the Buddha's teachings on the four elements. There are many different ways to describe the human experience—so many different perspectives and lenses. In the same way, we could describe the weather today in Redwood City as "pleasant." That is one way. We could also say it was 73° Fahrenheit or 23° Celsius. These are all different ways to look at it, but they are all pointing to the same thing: the experience of the temperature today. Different people in different parts of the world use Fahrenheit or Celsius or different language, and it is all okay. It is not like one is the truth and the others aren't; they are just different ways of describing the truth.

Similarly, with our inner lives, modern psychology offers different perspectives. There is the psychodynamic perspective that Freud brought with the id, ego, and superego. There is the behavioral perspective—like B.F. Skinner or Pavlov's dogs salivating when they hear the bell—focusing on the habits we get into. There is cognitive processing, looking at how we think about things and how we can train ourselves to think differently. There is also a biological perspective: what are the neurotransmitters and the nervous system doing? These are all different lenses for looking at the inner life.

In the same way, we have different lenses through which we can look at this bodily experience—what it is like to be a human in a body.

The Qualities of the Elements

In the Buddhist tradition, there are four elements: earth, water, air, and fire. In modern times, we might scoff and think, "Isn't that cute how thousands of years ago they thought about these four elements?" Today, those of us trained as chemists think about the periodic table and the number of protons in an atom. But the Buddha was thinking more about philosophy and practice: how could they use this idea of elements as a support for greater freedom, greater ease, greater peace, and awakening?

They expanded the definition of these elements to talk about particular principles or qualities found in everything.

• Earth Element: Represents stiffness, solidity, softness, or hardness. It is how solid something feels.
• Water Element: Represents fluidity and cohesion. Fluidity makes sense for water, but cohesion is also key. If you put flour in a bowl, it is just flour. Add water, and it sticks together; you get a dough ball to make bread. Water provides the cohesion holding things together.
• Fire Element: Represents temperature—the degree of heat, whether hot or cold.
• Air Element: Represents motion, movement, vibration, or oscillation.

It is not possible for these qualities to exist in an object singularly. All objects have a little bit of all four, though one may be predominant. For example, we think of a tree as pretty solid (Earth), but there is also sap providing liquidity and cohesion (Water). For those who know botany, there is the xylem and phloem moving water from the roots up to the tall trees (Air/Movement). And the tree has a degree of warmth or coolness (Fire).

The early Buddhist analysis of matter into elements was concerned with qualities rather than the physics of the universe. It points to the recognition that almost all things share a sense of resistance or solidity. In modern times, we would say they share carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen, but this teaching points to the felt qualities.

Something happens when the mind starts to pay attention to the qualities of things rather than just the labels. Take a chair, for example. Of course, a chair has solidity. Maybe the movement isn't obvious at this level, but if we zoomed way in to the atoms, we know there is space and movement. It has a certain temperature and cohesion; it isn't flying apart.

When we consider things by their qualities, our relationship to them shifts. Instead of seeing the chair as "something I sit in," or "the chair Jim nicely moves on Monday evenings," or "the chair that is too tall for me so I need a cushion"—all these stories tied up with "me"—we can see it differently. If I think about the qualities—the hardness of the rims versus the softness of the cushion—it is just different aspects of the Earth element.

Elements are elements are elements. Qualities are qualities are qualities. It doesn't matter whether it is in a chair, in this bell, in me, in you, in the wall behind me, or in the microphone.

Practicing with the Body

There are advantages to considering our own bodies in terms of the elements. In the Satipatthana Sutta², one of the primary discourses of the Buddha on mindfulness, the instructions say:

"A person reviews their body, however it is placed, however disposed, by way of the elements thus: In this body there is the Earth element, in this body there is the water element, in this body there is the fire element, and in this body is the air element."

Later it says:

"In this way they abide contemplating the body internally, externally, and both internally and externally."

We contemplate not only how this body has properties of solidity, fluidity, temperature, and movement, but how things "out there" also have these qualities. We can ask ourselves about this division we tend to create between "the elements in this body that I am" and "manifestations out there that are something different." Of course, on some level they are different, but on another level, we share these qualities—just like the starfish on the beach and the stars in the sky.

At what point does the food we eat become "us"? A carrot comes from the earth, water, and air. We eat the carrot, and it becomes part of this body. Where precisely is the distinction between external and internal? When we chew it? When we swallow it? Does it suddenly transform into "me"? If we really think about it, we cannot find a clear distinction that everyone can agree on. The same is true for the process of elimination. When is it no longer the body?

This division we create between external and internal is put into question. The elements are the elements.

Why does this matter? One way this helps is that it allows us to feel connected with nature. We see that we are part of nature; we are not different. This softens the sense of "me" being so important—the self-centeredness humans often have. We are just part of nature, like the carrots, the trees, and the ocean. It helps us feel connected to our environment rather than distinct.

It also diminishes the strong sense of "I" and "me," which is the source of much of our attachment and clinging. We are often trying to promote or defend this sense of "I," making sure it looks good or is seen in a certain way. We pretzel ourselves into protecting this sense of self. But when we see we are just part of nature, that can soften.

When we practice the body scan recommended by the Buddha, we tune into these elements:

• Earth: The clenching of teeth or solidity of bone.
• Water: The saliva in the mouth.
• Fire: The temperature of hands touching one another.
• Air: The movement of the body as it breathes.

Tuning into these experiences shifts our perspective. It minimizes the idea that the body is a stable, constant, separate thing that we can control, or that is beautiful or not beautiful. Those are just ideas. The body is actually a collection of changing experiences.

When we move away from our beliefs about the body and toward the actual experience—the tingling in the hand, the pressure of the cushion, the coolness against the skin—we notice that it is always changing. Recognizing this deepens our ability to let go. The mind no longer wants to hold on to the body as "me" because it sees it is just a collection of changing experiences. The idea of a stable, constant body is useful in daily life, but it is not the only perspective. This other perspective leads to greater freedom and peace.

Mana and Comparison

Often, the concept of "my body" leads to comparison. "My body" gets compared to others' bodies, or vice versa. This comparing is a deep human pattern. The Buddha had a word for it: Mana³. It is this deeply rooted sense of "I am," "I was," or "I will be."

This sense of "I" gets solidified when bodies are compared. Mana is one of the last defilements to disappear before full awakening. When we compare our bodies, a myriad of thoughts and emotions arise: "I should go to the gym more," "I should eat fewer cookies," "I should walk more."

If instead we see the body as an interplay of elements, this conceit of "I am" softens. The thought patterns and emotions related to comparing ourselves to others can fall away. There can be so much less dukkha⁴ (suffering) in our lives.

I am not saying this is the only way to consider the body. There are useful times to consider "this is my body," distinct from everything else. I am talking about a shift in perspective—a practice that helps us let go of attachments and ideas about how we or others should be.

Similes for Practice

Bhikkhu Analayo⁵, an amazingly productive scholar monk who delves into the Pali Canon and its parallels, talks about practicing with the elements. He says that looking at the elements—solidity, fluidity, temperature, movement—is like receiving a parcel meant for someone else. You get this box, look at it, and realize, "Oh, it doesn't have my name on it." There is no need to open it, have an emotional response, or create stories about it. You just look at the address label, realize it isn't yours, and return it.

We can do this with the experience of the body. Instead of saying, "This is mine, and I am going to compare it to everyone else's," we can say, "Oh no, it's not mine. Give it back." This perspective helps us disidentify with the body.

The Buddha also used a simile sprinkled throughout the Pali Canon. In modern times, it can seem a little gruesome. He gives the simile of a butcher who slaughters a cow and sells it. While the cow is whole, we consider it a "cow." But as soon as the butcher cuts it into pieces, it becomes "flank steak" or "T-bone." It is no longer "cow."

Using the perspective of the elements is a way to loosen our identity with the body, supporting more freedom so we aren't always protecting, defending, or hiding behind it.

Maybe in the same way, Galway Kinnell was talking about the starfish moving across the mud like stars moving across the heaven. It is a really different perspective, yet they share qualities. They both move (Air), have solidity (Earth), cohesion (Water), and temperature (Fire). He is pointing to something similar to what the Buddha is pointing to: a shift in perspective that can bring more freedom and ease to our lives.

Q&A

Participant: Thanks for the talk. When I first came here today, I struggled to sit and meditate. One of the talks we had a few weeks back was about trying to see the mundane in a different perspective. I remember hearing someone sneeze, and it made me conscious of the fact that we are all sharing the same air.

It is funny that the talk today is about the four elements, because that concept of sharing the air, coupled with shifting perspectives, really helped me remember that I am not alone. We are all here to practice together. Even if we come from different circumstances and go our separate ways after this, right now we are sharing that same movement of the breath. It helped me feel not alone and helped me settle into my practice because I knew everyone else was settling into theirs. I found that to be very timely.

Diana Clark: Nice, thank you. I actually had in my notes to talk about how this helps us feel connected to others, because, of course, all humans have the same elements that we do. Thank you for saying that.

Conclusion

I will read the poem again as a closing. It is nice to hear poems again after you have heard more about them.

Daybreak by Galway Kinnell

On the tidal mud, just before sunset, dozens of starfishes were creeping. It was as though the mud were a sky and enormous, imperfect stars moved across it as slowly as the actual stars cross heaven. All at once they stopped, and as if they had simply increased their receptivity to gravity they sank down into the mud; they faded down into it and lay still; and by the time pink of sunset broke across them they were as invisible as the true stars at daybreak.

I just love this poem; there is some tenderness or sweetness about it. I will end with that. Thank you, and I wish you all a wonderful rest of your evening.