This is an AI-generated transcript from auto-generated subtitles for the video Guided Meditation: Openness and Interest; Dharmette:Knowing and Not Knowing (3 of 5) Not Knowing. It likely contains inaccuracies.

Guided Meditation: Openness and Interest; Dharmette: Knowing and Not Knowing (3 of 5) Not Knowing - Ines Freedman

The following talk was given by Ines Freedman at Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, CA on November 06, 2024. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Guided Meditation: Openness and Interest

It is good to be with all of you again in this virtual Sangha¹. Welcome, everyone.

For many of us here, it might be particularly prominent in our minds and hearts that things in the world are not the way we want today. It can be helpful to remember the teaching that if we are only free when things are the way we want them, we are not really free. It can call in us to practice more diligently, with even more care, kindness, and compassion, to not add any more suffering to this world.

In my first few years of meditation, I found that it would take me a while for my mind to settle, especially if there was a lot going on in my life—days like today. So I accepted the idea that for the first 15 minutes the mind would be restless, and that usually, after about 15 minutes, it would calm. I relaxed about it, but what I didn't realize is that I was ignoring those first 15 minutes as not worthy of my careful attention. I had a preconception that there wasn't anything worthwhile to pay attention to in those first 15 minutes, so why bother with the effort?

Eventually, I came to realize the truth of the teaching: if we are only free when things are the way we want them, then we are not really free. As my own practice continued to mature, I realized that those same hindrances that showed up in the first 15 minutes—the restlessness, the aversion, the monkey mind—would show up at other times. Perhaps it was easier to see them when the mind was a little calmer.

I started treating those first 15 minutes with a lot of respect, careful attention, and care. They eventually transformed into a valuable part of my practice. The first minute is as valuable as the last, even if it isn't pleasant, even if it is filled with sorrow or a heavy heart. The moments of impatience are as valuable as the moments of calm. Whatever suffering might arise, it is even more valuable to recognize it, to allow it to move through us. The heart's natural response to suffering is compassion. Can we meet our own suffering with compassion?

When we have a preconception or an expectation, we don't tend to look carefully. We see the moment through the filters of our preconceived ideas, of our projections. We think we know, and when we think we know, we miss a lot. We close ourselves off because we are not curious about what we already know. As we bring an attitude of not knowing, of openness, we can see things newly. Each breath is new. Each physical sensation is new. Each thought or emotion is new.

So, let's sit.

Take a comfortable and alert posture, and softly close your eyes. Take a little time to settle into your meditation posture, allowing yourself to be centered on your body. Contemplating the body, clearly knowing, mindful, free from desires and discontent in regard to the world. Putting aside any ideas, concerns, or judgments. Not pushing them away, just putting them aside for now.

Arriving here in this body. Allowing yourself to experience the moment newly, not knowing what the next moment will bring. Letting the sensations be simple, as if you are experiencing them for the first time. Every moment new.

From within this body, you might become aware of your breathing. In the simplicity of this moment—this inhale, this exhale—knowing you are breathing in, knowing you are breathing out. You might take a few long, slow, deep breaths, connecting more fully with your body. With a full in-breath, you might feel the chest expand, the shoulders lift, the rib cage open. And exhaling, it all settles back in, relaxing. Relaxing deeper into the exhale, like a wave rising and falling back into the ocean. Rising and falling.

Allowing your breath to return to its natural rhythm, however it may be. As we breathe, you can be aware that the air outside of our body is the same air inside of our body. There is no separation between inside and outside. The air extends out far beyond our bodies and extends deep inside our bodies to every single cell. Inside, outside, flowing back and forth, connected by breathing.

Resting in the moment, recognizing whatever appears and whatever goes away. Maybe it is the in-breath and out-breath, or sensations arise and disappear. Thoughts or emotions—allow them to come and go, seeing them clearly, allowing them to be however they are. Seeing them freshly. Not interpreting, not evaluating, not assuming, not adding anything to the experience. Seeing them in simplicity.

If the attention has wandered, you can notice it and gently accompany it back to the breath, to the body, welcoming it home.

End the sitting. I will ring the bell in a moment. When I do, you might take a couple of slow, deep breaths again before opening your eyes.

Dharmette: Knowing and Not Knowing (3 of 5) Not Knowing

There is a Daoist parable about a poor Chinese farmer. A long time ago, a poor Chinese farmer lost a horse, and all the neighbors came around and said, "What terrible luck."

The farmer responded, "Maybe."

Shortly after, the horse returned, but when it did, it brought another horse with it. All the neighbors came around and said, "Well, isn't that lucky?"

To which the farmer replied, "Maybe."

The next day, the farmer's son was trying to tame the new horse and fell, breaking his leg. All the neighbors came around and said, "Oh, well that's terrible. You'll have no one to help you farm."

And the farmer replied, "Maybe."

The next day, the conscription officers came around to conscript people into the army, and they rejected his son because he had a broken leg. Again, all the neighbors came around and said, "Oh, isn't that lucky?"

And again he said, "Maybe."

In China, when something bad happens, people will say, "Remember the old man who lost his horse?" The old man understood the "not knowing" mind.

To not know can be seen as an attitude of being open. Suzuki Roshi² said, "In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, in the expert's mind there are few."

To learn a new skill easily is to be okay with not knowing. When we think we know something already, what is there to learn? We don't allow new information. Not knowing can be an attitude of not being limited by what we know, not making conclusions and opinions prematurely. Staying open. There is room to learn, room for new possibilities. Holding what we know lightly. It can bring an intimacy with what we don't know, and it can balance the knowing with the not knowing into an open mind—a mind that is open and interested.

We can see people newly, not based on the past. This was a gift a teacher gave me once. I had a practice discussion on retreat, and I felt I gave a bad impression of myself. I didn't communicate well, I sounded confused. I came in the next time apologizing for myself, and he said, "Oh, don't be concerned. I always see whoever comes in here newly."

It was such a gift to be seen that way, and it was so sincere. Can we see people newly, not based on the past? Can we see situations newly, not based on our projections and not hindered by resistance that it shouldn't be this way?

It is important to appreciate that we are not always able to meet the challenging things that might arise, and what the future will hold, with openness. Not knowing, uncertainty, can feel stressful. It can give rise to fear, to anger, to grief. The future is unknown. The art is to meet the unknown, no matter how challenging, with sincerity and kindness. If there is suffering present within us or around us, to hold it with compassion and kindness.

If there is fear, you can see it intimately—not braced against it, but allowing it to course through the body. Not feeding it with ideas and not pushing it away. Staying close to the physical sensations of the fear and allowing it to move through us. These moments of mindfulness bring a wholesome quality to the fear; the fear moves through us in a larger, caring space.

As I said, the future is unknown, but the unknown can also give rise to inspiration. If we are open and not lost in projections, new ways to respond can arise. Several years ago now, when we first had to shelter in place because of COVID, we saw that as bad luck. But at IMC³, with the openness of not knowing, inspiration arose to begin teaching online—to begin teaching these online retreats, this morning Sangha. Such good fortune, right?

We can also think of the "not knowing" mind of the great explorer or the traveler going into an unknown territory, and the excitement and wonder that inspires them. What will they learn? Who will they meet? It doesn't mean that they don't get caught in the river, or their canoe capsizes, or they meet unfriendly strangers at times, or get sick. But what will they learn? What's new? We can have both at the same time: we can have both fear and excitement, or fear and inspiration.

I saw an interview of a world-renowned free climber. A free climber, to me, is the scariest sport I can imagine. They climb without ropes, and one moment without paying attention can be fatal. They asked him, "Aren't you afraid?"

He said, "Of course I'm afraid. The fear keeps me safe."

But the fear didn't stop him. It didn't overwhelm him. The focus of the climb, the steadiness of mind, allowed the absorption, the concentration in the climb. The fear was just a guide that kept him safe.

About 50 years ago, I was having a conversation with a relative, and the subject of hummingbirds came up. He was convinced that hummingbirds never landed in their entire lives. Of course, for me, having seen them land, I knew otherwise, and I told him so. But he was dead set on his opinion, had no doubt that he understood correctly. I knew they are known for being almost constantly active and spending most of their time in the air, but they still rest on a perch or sleep on one. I felt frustrated. I couldn't get through to him. My heart contracted in judgment of him. I felt separate from him, disconnected.

Hummingbirds were completely inconsequential in my life at the time, and yet my heart contracted over something so inconsequential. That was just a point of view. How do we not cause harm to ourselves and others through our views and opinions? Can we meet a difference of view without contracting our hearts, to not cause harm to others or to ourselves—especially when we hold our view as being very consequential?

Can we hold our own understanding of the situation without attachment? Attachment to views and opinions is a source of divisiveness between people. An attitude of not knowing can help us keep our hearts open with other people's opinions, other ways of seeing things. Maybe allowing for a deeper understanding, for something new to arise. That doesn't mean we don't have convictions and work towards them, but can we allow someone to have a view that is distasteful to us to be there without pushing the person out of our hearts?

Suzuki Roshi said, "Not knowing does not mean you don't know. It means not being limited by what we know."

We hold what we know lightly—lightly enough that it might change, that we don't contract around it to try to protect it. Can we understand what we know and not cling to it? Not knowing can mean that there is something to learn in the situation. It can allow for disagreement without contracting the heart.

Can we be at ease with not knowing what the future will be? Not adding suffering now by projecting what the future will be, what it will hold. Maybe at this moment things are okay. It doesn't mean we don't take action, but it means that any action we take needs to rise out of wisdom instead of reactivity.

Remember that the future is never as we imagine. As we project, we might get many general aspects right, but not the experience. The "me" of twenty never imagined this "me" half a century later. It didn't come close. Maybe got the gray hair right, that's about it.

When we contemplate the much larger context of the universe—so much larger than our earthly concerns—the study of the universe can reveal that no matter how much science discovers, the reality of what is unknown is so much greater. We might view that with frustration, or it might deeply inspire us in our spiritual life.

There is a concept about the universe expressed by the Sioux⁴ Indians of what they call the "Great Mystery." The Great Mystery expresses itself through the universe in every human, animal, tree, and grain of sand. To not only surrender to something that isn't understood intellectually but to actually rejoice in it. Can we rejoice in the Great Mystery? Can we stand at ease in the Great Mystery and not knowing?

I am going to read a poem by John Brehm⁵:

There’s something to be said for having nothing to say
but I don’t know what that is
or isn’t
just as there’s something to be known about not knowing
which I would tell you if I could.

There must be something to be gained by losing
a seed of victory buried in every failure
or else I would not be here.

Clearly there’s something to be desired about being beyond desire
as the sages never tire of telling us.

And there’s nothing more fulfilling than emptying yourself out
no ground beneath your feet
nothing to hold on to
no handrail
no belief
only this bright self-sustaining air
and the falling that feels like floating.

May the benefits of our practice bring peace and kindness to each one of us and to everyone we come in contact with, whether in person or through our words. And may it ripple outwards, spreading peace and kindness to all living beings in this world.

Thank you.