This is an AI-generated transcript from auto-generated subtitles for the video Guided Meditation: Under the Tree; Our Stories (3 of 5): Creating Connections. It likely contains inaccuracies.

Guided Meditation: Under the Tree; Dharmette: Our Stories (3 of 5); Creating Connections - Diana Clark

The following talk was given by Diana Clark at Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, CA on September 18, 2024. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Guided Meditation: Under the Tree

So let's do some meditation. Maybe there's a way that there's a little wiggling of the body as we settle into our meditation posture. Take some bigger breaths as we connect to the sensations of breathing. Connect to the body and tune into the connections with our contact surface, whatever that surface might be: the couch, the floor, the bed. Maybe even some of you are walking—probably not driving, but walking. I find it can make a big difference to really feel the foundation upon which I'm sitting, to feel grounded and to feel, "I'm here," which also means "now."

Feeling the feet on the ground. Feeling the back of the legs and the contact with the sitting surface—the buttocks, the pressure of the cushion, chair, or seat, whatever it might be. Feel that against the body. And if you're using a backrest, feel the pressure against the back.

Opening to sensations in the face. We often hold tension around the eyes or the jaw. It might be that bringing awareness to areas that have tension helps soften or loosen the tension. It might not. Also, can we not be tense about having tension?

Tuning in with the neck. For me, I like to move my chin directly back—not up or down, but back just a tiny bit. It opens up the neck and feels a little bit more spacious.

The shoulders: letting them relax and move away from the ears, with the shoulder blades sliding down the back. Can the chest be just a tiny bit more open? Moving the shoulders back—maybe it's not even perceptible by another person if they were to be looking at you, just this really small movement.

Resting attention on the sensations of breathing. Noticing how the body breathes, noticing the experience and the sensations. No words are needed.

Feeling into the experience of breathing. Noticing the stretch and the release of the stretch as we inhale and exhale.

When you find yourself lost in thought, there is no need to make a story about what it means about you as a meditator or about this meditation session. We just begin again with the sensations of breathing—the experience of breathing. Nothing particularly needs to be happening; just notice the experience of breathing.

Part of this tradition is the story of the Buddha meditating under a tree. Is there a way that you can feel supported and encouraged, knowing that countless individuals have been doing this practice, sitting literally or figuratively under a tree? What would it be like for you? Imagine you're sitting under a tree in a relaxed, easy way, but with dedication and commitment.

Dharmette: Our Stories (3 of 5); Creating Connections

Good morning, and welcome again. I'm continuing this series about stories. Earlier in the week, I shared a few stories to talk about the role they have in our lives and our relationship to them. I'll do the same today with a different story: the story of the Buddha's path to awakening.

As you may know, different Buddhist traditions have different versions of this story. I'll talk a little bit more about that in a moment, but I'm going to give one version of this story. This version is not uncommon in this lineage: the idea that the Buddha was a historical figure, somebody who existed and whom scholars say died around 483 BCE¹. About 2,600 years ago, there was a man named Siddhartha Gautama². He was a human; he lived and died just like humans do. He wasn't a god, nor was he born from a god; he was a human just like we are. During the course of his life, he made some discoveries about freedom, peace, and Nibbāna³—Nirvana. These discoveries were very practical, profound, and groundbreaking. Over the ages, people have felt compelled to share his teachings, including the story of his awakening.

In some ways, we might say that this story has become maybe a little bit more myth than fact, but that doesn't mean we can't be inspired or moved by his life and his discovery. The story begins with Siddhartha Gautama, who was a prince in Northern India, in what is in modern times Nepal. He lived a very sheltered life in his palace, very pampered, in a way that protected him from the difficulties of life. It wasn't until he was a young adult that he encountered what we call the "Heavenly Messengers"⁴: old age, sickness, and death. In some versions of the story, they include a fourth heavenly messenger: a monastic, someone who possessed a great sense of peace.

Having encountered old age, sickness, and death while out on a ride in a chariot—driven by a driver, of course, because he was a prince—he was deeply troubled. He realized, "My goodness, this is going to happen to me as well, and to everyone I care about. There's got to be a way out of this suffering." Whether for those facing impending old age or those already experiencing it, there had to be a way out of the difficulties of the human condition.

So, he left his beautiful palace, where everything was catered to him, in a quest to find the end of suffering. It's noteworthy that he left behind a wife, Yasodhara⁵, and a baby, Rahula⁶. After he left, he discovered meditation masters and studied with them, becoming incredibly proficient. The first meditation master said, "You're as good as I am now; maybe you can teach with me." But the person who was to become the Buddha—the Bodhisattva⁷—said, "Yes, but I haven't found the end of this suffering." He went to a second meditation master who taught with even more depth. He acquired those same skills, and again the teacher invited him to teach. And again, the Bodhisattva said, "No, I haven't found an end to suffering."

He continued his quest and decided to try extreme asceticism, which included not eating. He nearly starved himself to death. You can find statues of him from this period looking incredibly emaciated, with his ribs and bones being very prominent. But he still hadn't found an end to suffering; he had just found more suffering. Then he had a memory of being a young person and experiencing what is often called the first jhāna⁸—a meditative experience of incredible ease, joy, and happiness where there was no suffering. He had a sense that this was the direction to go.

Because he was so emaciated, he didn't have the strength to continue. A young woman encountered him in this near-death state and offered him rice milk. He took it and began to regain his health. When he had enough strength, he sat with incredible determination under a Bodhi tree—a Ficus religiosa⁹. (This is the same type of Ficus that I'm sitting next to here.) He sat with the determination that he would not move until he became awakened.

While sitting there, he was attacked by Mara¹⁰, the personification of the difficulties and hindrances that get in our way. Some traditions hold that Mara is a demonic figure, but I see Mara as representing whatever gets in the way of our practice. Mara threw terrible things at him—in some versions, it is mud and fire—but the Buddha was able to meet them in such a way that they were transformed into flowers that fell near his seat. At one point, he touched the ground and said, "The Earth is my witness, I'm going to become awakened." And he did.

That is the version of the story I am telling this morning. There are many different versions, and on another day I might include different details. What is interesting is that in this tradition—and in particular, Gil Fronsdal's¹¹ lineage—there is a heavy emphasis on the suttas and the Pali Canon¹². Gil and I spent a number of years teaching the Majjhima Nikāya¹³, the Saṃyutta Nikāya¹⁴, and the Dīgha Nikāya¹⁵. You might be surprised to learn that much of the story I just told is actually not in the Pali Canon. Some elements are there, but they are often attributed to other people. Even the name "Siddhartha" does not appear in the Pali Canon; he is simply referred to by his clan name, Gautama (or Gotama in Pali).

For me, this is fascinating. Our tradition values the Pali Canon, yet this beloved story is not from it. The story of the Buddha's awakening in the Pali Canon emphasizes his meditative practices and how he worked with fear. As is true of all stories, the teller emphasizes the aspects that speak to them. I didn't talk about supernatural elements because those aren't what inspire me. What inspires me is that the Buddha was a human. I am a human, and you are humans. The potential for awakening—to find greater peace, ease, and freedom—is what is meaningful.

Stories create connections. They serve as a bridge through time, geography, and culture, allowing us to find common elements. Some of you might recognize this version of the Buddha's awakening as a "Hero's Journey"¹⁶, an archetypal story where a person embarks on a journey, overcomes challenges, and undergoes transformation. There is a reason why Star Wars was so popular; it follows that same archetypal journey.

Stories also evoke and represent emotions. I can relate to the story of the Buddha's confusion when it wasn't clear how to find freedom. I relate to his memory of childhood innocence and ease—a time before we have so many ideas about who we are "supposed" to be. Stories connect us to perseverance, frustration, and eventually, peace.

Furthermore, stories pass down traditions and values. Whether it's the way we sit cross-legged in meditation or the shared value of recognizing the struggles of life—dukkha¹⁷—stories provide relief. It is helpful to realize that people thousands of years ago were struggling with the same fundamental human difficulties.

Finally, storytelling in the Buddhist tradition emphasizes ethical behavior. In this story, the Buddha follows the precepts¹⁸ and maintains a standard of behavior. He doesn't harm others or gossip about the teachers he left behind; he simply finds his way. This version of the story carries on from teacher to teacher and practitioner to practitioner because it is meaningful.

The stories that connect us, connect us as humans. Today, you might notice which stories connect you to this tradition and to other people. Consider the stories you share: are they helpful or not helpful?

Thank you for your practice. I'll see you tomorrow.

Reflections

Thank you. It's lovely to practice together. I've been looking at the chat, but I recognize there are many people watching who aren't posting. Know that we are all paying attention to the same things here. What a pleasure it is to be with you all. Best wishes, everybody.