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Balancing Effort with Patience - Diana Clark

The following talk was given by Diana Clark at Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, CA on March 19, 2024. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Balancing Effort with Patience

Good evening, welcome. It is nice to see you all as we practice together.

Today I want to talk a little bit about balancing the amount of effort we put into this practice. Of course, it takes effort to go against our usual patterns, to go against entropy—that tendency toward less energy and more chaos. Anything we want to do in our life takes a certain amount of energy and effort. For the purpose of this talk, I will use "energy" and "effort" interchangeably.

If we want to bridge the gap between the theoretical ideas we have about practice, Buddhism, and meditation, and actually having that in our life, it requires a certain amount of effort. Part of the question is: How do we do that? Do we just push non-stop? It can often feel like such a big shift is asked of us to have more freedom in our lives. We might feel, "Wow, I am so far from that. The amount of energy must be amazing—certainly more than I have."

I will start by saying the only energy that is needed is just the energy to do the one small, tiny next step. That is it. Sometimes we can feel overwhelmed thinking we have a large distance to travel, but it always starts just with the first step.

The Simile of the Goldsmith

I would like to share a simile from the Suttas¹ that approaches this idea of energy and effort from a different angle. It goes like this:

Suppose a goldsmith prepares a hot furnace, heats up a receptacle, takes some gold using tongs, and puts it into the receptacle. From time to time, the goldsmith would blow on it, sprinkle water on it, and from time to time, just look on as the gold was heating.

As you can imagine, someone who has a gold nugget and wants to make jewelry must purify it to work with it. The simile continues:

If the goldsmith were to only blow on it, it is possible that the gold would just burn up; it would get too hot. If the goldsmith were to only sprinkle water on it, it is possible the gold would cool down, and they couldn't work with it. And if the goldsmith were to just look on, it is possible that the gold would not reach the right consistency. But if the goldsmith would from time to time blow on it, sprinkle water on it, or just look on, then the gold would become purified, bright, unblemished, rid of imperfection, malleable, wieldy, and steady, attained to imperturbability.

The reason that kind of expression is in there is that this is the exact same language the Buddha uses to describe his mind before Awakening: purified, bright, unblemished, rid of imperfection, malleable, wieldy, steady, and attained to imperturbability.

We sometimes think that meditation or practice is about sticking your mind on something, stapling it there, applying more energy, and you will be good to go. But it is not like that. It is about becoming malleable and wieldy—being able to work with whatever life is bringing you, whatever that moment is experiencing.

The simile concludes: "Then whatever ornament the goldsmith wishes to make from it—whether a bracelet, earrings, a necklace, or a garland—that can be achieved." If the mind is malleable, we can do what we want to do. We can make something beautiful that has value, something we can share with others or use for ourselves.

The Difficulty of "Just Looking On"

I would like to unpack this simile because there are three ways to work with the gold:

1. Blow on it (make it hotter).
2. Sprinkle water on it (make it cooler).
3. Just look on.

I feel like we can do the first two. If you give me instructions, I can do it. "Water? Should it be distilled, sparkling, mineralized? What temperature?" We feel like we can do that activity. The hard part is just looking on.

I can fill my life up with a never-ending to-do list. Life could be just one long to-do list if we let it. The instruction "from time to time just look on" is not saying to do that exclusively, nor is it saying to exclusively put heat on it. It is about learning the wisdom of when to do what. In ancient India, an apprentice would learn from a goldsmith through trial and error.

For this idea of "just looking on," I would like to use a word that is part of the Paramis²—a collection of practices and characteristics that we cultivate in our daily life. That word is Khanti³ in Pali, or patience.

We all know we should have patience; this is not news to anyone. But this is a reminder that practice is not only about putting more and more energy into it. There are times when we need to just be patient and simply look on. If we only apply energy, we will exhaust ourselves and get burnt out. Or, our striving can make our practice feel brittle, joyless, dry, and burdensome. Humans can only do that for so long.

I remember being on a long meditation retreat and having a practice discussion with a teacher. She said to me, "Well, you know, people like you, Diana, who like to strive..." I was so offended. I thought, "I don't strive! What are you talking about?" I left thinking, "I am going to strive to make sure she knows that I am not a striver." [Laughter]

I just had this idea that I had to work harder. I couldn't see how hard I was working; I just felt I had to do more. I didn't appreciate that it is not about "more, more, more." It is about being sensitive to what is needed. Sometimes that is stepping back, looking on, and allowing things to unfold.

If we feel like we always have to be putting heat on or cooling down, maybe we do that because it makes us feel like we can control things. But have you noticed we don't get to control as much as we think we can? We might want to do this to avoid feeling helpless. Or maybe we have an inner critic that rises up and tells us, "Whatever you're doing is not good enough; in fact, you are inadequate." In response, we apply more effort.

To be patient is to admit, "I am not really needed right here, right now. I don't have to jump in and try to fix everything." To be patient is to recognize, "Maybe this isn't what I want. Maybe it is uncomfortable. But maybe it doesn't have to be fixed precisely this moment. Maybe I can look on." Maybe it is too hot, and it can cool by itself without my sprinkling water on it.

Just as overexerting ourselves can cover up a sense of inadequacy or helplessness, the opposite side is collapsing. We might feel there is nothing we can do, so we say, "To hell with that," and just disengage. Instead of looking on, we disconnect, disparage, or dismiss it. Or, if we don't take the time to simply look on, we might use energy in an unwise way, making mistakes just because we are busily doing.

The Simile of the Wagoner

The Buddha has another simile for this which I appreciate:

"As the wagoner who left the highway, a road with an even surface, and entered upon the rugged path, broods mournfully with a broken axle."

The wagoner is upset because they thought, "Let me take a shortcut. I'll go off the highway and go overland." Then their axle breaks, and they are filled with regret. This literally happens—well, I don't go off the highway into the dirt, but sometimes you see traffic and think, "Oh, I better take this exit," and it ends up being much slower because the side roads are just as busy. We do this because we don't want to be patient.

In the simile, the "even surface" (pavement) didn't exist in ancient India, so an even surface meant lots of people had been down that path before. Often we learn from what other people have done. I am not saying we have to be lemmings, but neither should we assume there has to be a "hack" or a shortcut. Sometimes these shortcuts don't work, but our impatience drives us to take them.

What Patience Is

What is needed is this balance between effort/energy and patience. It is learning when to do what. When is it best to apply heat? When is it best to cool down? When is it time to just look on?

We can think of patience as non-reactivity. It is not raging, blaming ourselves or others, despairing, or making wild stories when we encounter something uncomfortable. Often the mind wants to start blaming: "It shouldn't be this way. As soon as I get home, I'm going to write a letter to Caltrans⁴. This road should be shorter."

Patience is holding these difficulties in a spacious way. "Yep, this is what is happening right now. It is difficult, but it doesn't have to be fixed precisely this moment." It doesn't mean it needs to be there forever, or that it is the best thing. It just means acknowledging what is actually happening. Can we be okay for that moment?

If we can hold it with a little more spaciousness, the mind can feel more peaceful. The agitation or restlessness has time to settle down. With that settling, wisdom can bubble up, and we can see things in a clearer way, perhaps seeing a bigger picture which points to what is to be done next.

Patience applies to our relationships. Can we be in a difficult situation with someone without lashing out with anger? Is there a way we can maintain our composure? It doesn't mean we are happy or approve of what is happening. It just means we are not lashing out, collapsing, or bolting. We take a deep breath and are present as best we can.

Just think how your life would unfold if, during difficult conversations, you were able to stay grounded and spacious even when you heard things you didn't want to hear. How many times have we said things we regret? Regret is painful.

In meditation, we get lost in thought—planning the grocery list—and then realize, "Oh yeah, I'm supposed to be meditating." We bring the mind back again and again. Maybe there is a feeling of, "When is that bell going to ring?"

Here is a hint I learned: Never look at your watch. It will never be good news. If it is 30 seconds before the bell, you think, "I shouldn't have looked." If it is 45 minutes before, you think, "Oh my gosh, I can't believe it."

Patience is also perseverance. It is sticking with things even when they take time to show results. I heard an expression: "Patience is giving up the deadline." It is not giving up the goal, just the deadline that it has to happen right then. It is like planting seeds; while they are underground, we don't see what they are doing. We often don't know how things are unfolding within ourselves or others.

What Patience Is Not

It is important to talk about what patience is not.

• It is not numbing resignation. It is not disconnecting, tapping your foot, and being annoyed.
• It is not gritting your teeth. It is not clenching your hands and holding on for dear life waiting for it to be over. That is waiting with aversion.
• It is not being impervious. It is not ignoring what is happening or being stubborn and resistant to change.
• It is not paralysis or weakness. Patience is a strength.

Our society promotes "go, go, go, do, do, do." The busier you are, the more important you must be. It is easier to be busy than to be patient.

Patience also doesn't mean becoming a doormat that others can tread upon. By holding things spaciously and not losing our composure, we can see, "Oh, this is what is really happening." Patience creates the conditions in which our best wisdom can arise so we can do what is best. That is very different from passively being a doormat. Maybe the wisdom says, "No, actually I need to clearly say no to this person." After a little bit of patience, we see it is time to do something.

Cultivating Unglamorous Courage

How can we cultivate patience? We can't always make things go faster or be pleasant. Sylvia Boorstein calls patience "unglamorous courage." I like that. Courage sounds lofty, but "unglamorous courage" is the way to stay connected, not disengage, and not feel like we have to fix it at that moment.

Patience requires two things:

1. Some unpleasant circumstance (you don't need patience if everything is perfect).
2. A little bit of effort to hang in there.

We don't need to create opportunities to cultivate patience; life will naturally bring them to us. Like courage, you become more patient by being patient.

There is a line from the poet and singer k.d. lang that I love: "I've worried, is it so that lessons of patience are learned slow? Is it so that lessons of patience are learned slow? Yes, it is."

How can we support this learning?

1. Mindfulness: Notice when we are impatient. Sometimes we don't even notice—we are fidgeting or our foot is tapping. That can be an opportunity to take a deep breath and say, "It's like this right now." We often notice it by how it feels in the body, like restlessness.
2. Loving-kindness (Metta): Having warm-heartedness supports a sense of well-being. If we have a sense of well-being, we can be more patient. If we are agitated, we are more impatient.
3. Concentration: This practice nourishes one's inner life, providing a sense of space, steadiness, and warmth so that impatience doesn't arise as readily.

Patience is the counterbalance to energy and effort.

Q&A

Question: Did k.d. lang sing that song "Constant Craving"? Diana: Yes, she was actually a Buddhist practitioner. There is a reason why she uses these lines in her songs.

Question: I was struck by your comment about not wanting to fix things immediately. How do you find that balance between being patient and that point at which you do take action or jump into the fray? Diana: That is a great question. Part of the way we can find it is by checking how it feels in the body. There is a difference between agitation that fuels activity and the clarity of "Oh, this is what needs to be done." Feel in: Is it being fueled by restlessness, or is it a clarity?

Question: There are times when I need to be patient, and I realize the problem isn't the situation I have to be patient about; the problem is an abundance of energy because I got triggered. I don't like what's going on and I want to do something about it. The energy to do something is right there, and I can't put it to one side. Diana: So there is agitation and it is uncomfortable? Maybe take some notes, write down ideas, or use that energy to create conditions for future action. Participant: No, I am impatient with that because I want to put the energy aside. Diana: Ah, busted! [Laughter] I will offer this simple suggestion: Feel your feet on the ground. Just keep coming back to feeling your feet on the ground. It brings the mind back to the body, which moves slower than the mind. Being grounded is helpful so we don't fly off the handle. When we are really agitated, we don't have access to our greatest wisdom. The pressure on the bottom of the feet can be surprisingly helpful.

Question: Your talk brought up the story about the student asking the master, "If I work really hard, how long will it take me to be enlightened?" The master said, "Ten years." The student said, "Well, what if I work double time and work really extra hard?" The master said, "Twenty years." Diana: Yes exactly. If you work extra hard, it takes longer. That sums up so many things.

Question: It calls to mind the saying that you are trying to dance faster than the music. Diana: Oh, I haven't heard that. Very nice.

Thank you all, and I wish you a lovely rest of the evening.