I've always loved sports-horseback
riding, golf, running. I once asked my father, Chogyam Trungpa, what he thought
about football, since it's a sport that didn't exist in Tibet. He answered, "They've
been winning and losing the same game for a hundred years." I was struck
by his humor, but even more so by the subtle truth behind what he said. Over those
hundred years, games were won and games were lost. The players may have gained
endurance, discipline, and camaraderie, but in the end, they did not make any
progress, because they were always playing with the goal of gain.
In samsara-the
endless cycle of suffering-we are always winning and losing the same game, somehow
expecting to make progress. We spend part of our life trying to get it together,
and the other part watching it fall apart. We don't realize that if we try to
gain something, we had better be ready to lose it. As soon as we have time-"I
have a whole hour free"-we are losing it. We work hard to have a relationship,
and then it breaks up. We come together for a holiday party, and then it's over.
We buy a new car, and the fender gets a dent.
Everything we gain is subject
to loss. Although this is as true as the sky is blue, we keep trying to make gain
permanent in order to try to bring about happiness for "me." We think,
"If only So-and-So would love me, I would be happy," "If only things
would change, I would be happy," "If only things would stay the way
they are, I would always be happy," and it only leads to heartache. This
kind of wanting involves a lot of hope and fear, all based on denial of a simple
truth: all the pleasure the world can offer eventually turns to pain. Trying to
hold onto pleasure only causes more pain.
Why do we put all that effort into
gain, when in the end, we are going to lose it? Indulging in gain and loss is
like inducing amnesia. We're always finding something new to gain, which helps
us forget to look but a few seconds back at the last thing that we lost. Fabricating
this chain of desire is how we keep ourselves in samsara. Like nothing we own,
this pattern does stand a chance of lasting from lifetime to lifetime. Contemplation
allows us to step back and see it from a deeper point of view, to be less mesmerized
by it. Then we're less apt to work fervently toward gain.
The Buddha said
that our existence is marked by impermanence, selflessness, and suffering. When
we contemplate his insight in morning meditation, we're letting the truth about
existence penetrate our being. We're bringing that truth into our own experience:
whatever we can gather, we will lose. Even this body will dissolve. To contemplate
gain and loss is not to say that we can escape this reality, but it helps us stop
being fooled into thinking that worldly gain will bring permanent happiness. This
is how we bring our mind into harmony with the truth about gain and loss. We realize
that gain and loss is just an illusion-one that we've allowed to rule our lives.
When we stop being baffled, surprised, or insulted by it, we will no longer experience
the highs and lows that accompany gain and loss.
We often lose our perspective
about gain and loss, because the modern world is very competitive. With that attitude,
we are in a perpetual rub with our environment. We're playing the game of "'What
about me?' If I gain something, I will be happy. If I lose something, I'll be
miserable." That kind of friction simply wears us down. Competition doesn't
enable us to accomplish what we want. It just adds the grind of trying to gain
by outdoing somebody else. It makes us aggressive-unable to relax in our own mind.
We become susceptible to anger, which destroys any virtue that we've gathered.
Trying to manipulate the environment by promoting ourselves and hoping for others
to fail is unpleasant and delusional. We are only as good as we are, and forcing
another person down doesn't make us any better. Competition is unstable. Even
when we win, we have not really won. We always have to prove ourselves again.
If we want to make progress on a spiritual path, we cannot base our worth on succeeding
or failing at one event.
After I'd been running for a while, two friends-both
experienced marathoners-said that I was in good enough shape to run one myself.
It hadn't been that long since running for an hour had felt like a long time.
What's interesting about a marathon is that even though it is considered a race,
most of the competition is with ourselves. We are rising to our own challenge.
As I ran the Big Sur marathon-considered one of the most beautiful and difficult-I
felt relaxed and comfortable. I thought about all the miles I'd run to get to
this point, through snow and rain, heat and cold. When the race was over, someone
asked me who had won. I said, "I'm not trying to be corny, but everybody
won."
When we compete, we are honing our skills of aggression. In abstaining
from a competitive state of mind, we are taking confidence in our worthiness as
a human being who can cultivate wisdom and compassion. That potential can't be
gained or lost. If we develop it, we're able to live life spaciously, with pleasure.
We don't fret about what others are or are not doing. We appreciate others. When
they outperform us, we don't see it as belittlement, but as an opportunity to
relax into the outrageous possibility of not being attached to gain and loss.
Gain and loss are meaningless preoccupations that we use to foster the illusion
of a permanent self. We have been preoccupied this way for many lifetimes, winning
and losing the same game over and over again. The point of contemplating gain
and loss is to stop wasting our time. This life is precious, our time is precious,
and our mind is precious. True victory is not being caught by the illusion of
permanence. It is not being hooked by negative emotions. It comes about when we
free ourselves from the illusion of "me." That's why the Buddha is called
"the victorious one"-he is victorious over ignorance, desire, and self-infatuation.
Unlike ourselves, the Buddha doesn't see the dreamlike quality of existence in
hindsight. He sees it now. The Buddha sees now-just like the past and the future-as
a dream, as an illusion.
Prajna-"best knowledge"-tells us that as
long as we believe that aggression and competition can bring true gain, we will
always be playing the game of samsara. If we can see through our own ignorance,
we will no longer act out of attachment to conventional gain and loss. We'll no
longer need to prove ourselves again each season. We can outwit the cycle of suffering
by investing our energy in the cause of lasting happiness, which is letting go
of "me." This is how to be truly victorious.
I've
always loved sports-horseback riding, golf, running. I once asked my father, Chogyam
Trungpa, what he thought about football, since it's a sport that didn't exist
in Tibet. He answered, "They've been winning and losing the same game for
a hundred years." I was struck by his humor, but even more so by the subtle
truth behind what he said. Over those hundred years, games were won and games
were lost. The players may have gained endurance, discipline, and camaraderie,
but in the end, they did not make any progress, because they were always playing
with the goal of gain.
In samsara-the endless cycle of suffering-we are always
winning and losing the same game, somehow expecting to make progress. We spend
part of our life trying to get it together, and the other part watching it fall
apart. We don't realize that if we try to gain something, we had better be ready
to lose it. As soon as we have time-"I have a whole hour free"-we are
losing it. We work hard to have a relationship, and then it breaks up. We come
together for a holiday party, and then it's over. We buy a new car, and the fender
gets a dent.
Everything we gain is subject to loss. Although this is as true
as the sky is blue, we keep trying to make gain permanent in order to try to bring
about happiness for "me." We think, "If only So-and-So would love
me, I would be happy," "If only things would change, I would be happy,"
"If only things would stay the way they are, I would always be happy,"
and it only leads to heartache. This kind of wanting involves a lot of hope and
fear, all based on denial of a simple truth: all the pleasure the world can offer
eventually turns to pain. Trying to hold onto pleasure only causes more pain.
Why do we put all that effort into gain, when in the end, we are going to
lose it? Indulging in gain and loss is like inducing amnesia. We're always finding
something new to gain, which helps us forget to look but a few seconds back at
the last thing that we lost. Fabricating this chain of desire is how we keep ourselves
in samsara. Like nothing we own, this pattern does stand a chance of lasting from
lifetime to lifetime. Contemplation allows us to step back and see it from a deeper
point of view, to be less mesmerized by it. Then we're less apt to work fervently
toward gain.
The Buddha said that our existence is marked by impermanence,
selflessness, and suffering. When we contemplate his insight in morning meditation,
we're letting the truth about existence penetrate our being. We're bringing that
truth into our own experience: whatever we can gather, we will lose. Even this
body will dissolve. To contemplate gain and loss is not to say that we can escape
this reality, but it helps us stop being fooled into thinking that worldly gain
will bring permanent happiness. This is how we bring our mind into harmony with
the truth about gain and loss. We realize that gain and loss is just an illusion-one
that we've allowed to rule our lives. When we stop being baffled, surprised, or
insulted by it, we will no longer experience the highs and lows that accompany
gain and loss.
We often lose our perspective about gain and loss, because
the modern world is very competitive. With that attitude, we are in a perpetual
rub with our environment. We're playing the game of "'What about me?' If
I gain something, I will be happy. If I lose something, I'll be miserable."
That kind of friction simply wears us down. Competition doesn't enable us to accomplish
what we want. It just adds the grind of trying to gain by outdoing somebody else.
It makes us aggressive-unable to relax in our own mind. We become susceptible
to anger, which destroys any virtue that we've gathered. Trying to manipulate
the environment by promoting ourselves and hoping for others to fail is unpleasant
and delusional. We are only as good as we are, and forcing another person down
doesn't make us any better. Competition is unstable. Even when we win, we have
not really won. We always have to prove ourselves again. If we want to make progress
on a spiritual path, we cannot base our worth on succeeding or failing at one
event.
After I'd been running for a while, two friends-both experienced marathoners-said
that I was in good enough shape to run one myself. It hadn't been that long since
running for an hour had felt like a long time. What's interesting about a marathon
is that even though it is considered a race, most of the competition is with ourselves.
We are rising to our own challenge. As I ran the Big Sur marathon-considered one
of the most beautiful and difficult-I felt relaxed and comfortable. I thought
about all the miles I'd run to get to this point, through snow and rain, heat
and cold. When the race was over, someone asked me who had won. I said, "I'm
not trying to be corny, but everybody won."
When we compete, we are honing
our skills of aggression. In abstaining from a competitive state of mind, we are
taking confidence in our worthiness as a human being who can cultivate wisdom
and compassion. That potential can't be gained or lost. If we develop it, we're
able to live life spaciously, with pleasure. We don't fret about what others are
or are not doing. We appreciate others. When they outperform us, we don't see
it as belittlement, but as an opportunity to relax into the outrageous possibility
of not being attached to gain and loss.
Gain and loss are meaningless preoccupations
that we use to foster the illusion of a permanent self. We have been preoccupied
this way for many lifetimes, winning and losing the same game over and over again.
The point of contemplating gain and loss is to stop wasting our time. This life
is precious, our time is precious, and our mind is precious. True victory is not
being caught by the illusion of permanence. It is not being hooked by negative
emotions. It comes about when we free ourselves from the illusion of "me."
That's why the Buddha is called "the victorious one"-he is victorious
over ignorance, desire, and self-infatuation. Unlike ourselves, the Buddha doesn't
see the dreamlike quality of existence in hindsight. He sees it now. The Buddha
sees now-just like the past and the future-as a dream, as an illusion.
Prajna-"best
knowledge"-tells us that as long as we believe that aggression and competition
can bring true gain, we will always be playing the game of samsara. If we can
see through our own ignorance, we will no longer act out of attachment to conventional
gain and loss. We'll no longer need to prove ourselves again each season. We can
outwit the cycle of suffering by investing our energy in the cause of lasting
happiness, which is letting go of "me." This is how to be truly victorious.