Buddha Nature: 5 Tips In Tibetan Buddhism For Opening Your Heart And Mind

By Tsoknyi Rinpoche

1. Remember Who You Are

Deep within all beings is a kind of spark that lights and warms our lives. It's been called by many names in many different traditions. In the Buddhist tradition it's known as "Buddha nature"-- which is often described in terms of three qualities: boundless wisdom, infinite capability, and immeasurable loving-kindness and compassion.

One of the core teachings of Buddhism is that we all possess this nature. You may think that you're an accountant, an executive, a teacher, a student, a parent, a child -- and indeed, on a mundane, every-day level, you are. But underneath a particular identity and all the thoughts, feelings, and behaviors that may attach to it, what you are is the ever-evolving potential of a being who is capable not only of transcending suffering but of leading all other creatures out of darkness and pain, as well.

So all you really have to do in order to open your heart and your mind is to remember your Buddha nature!

2. Mind Your Body

Unfortunately that's not always easy. Throughout our lives we're urged to define ourselves and our experiences in particular ways. Over time, these definitions become so familiar that we end up identifying with them completely as the absolute truth of who we are.

We can, however, begin to break down our mundane, everyday identities into smaller pieces -- a process through which we begin to discover that who we think we are isn't quite as solid as we believe. One of the easiest ways to begin is to spend a little time with our bodies.

It's surprising how many of us forget our bodies. It's so easy to get caught up in thoughts and feelings and overlook this extraordinary system of muscles, bones, organs and so on that serves as a physical support for our thoughts, feelings and behaviors.

So one thing we can do -- preferably while sitting in a comfortable position with the spine straight and muscles relaxed -- is to start simply and gently appreciating that we have a body, a basic ground of experience. We can begin by simply noticing: "There is a leg. There is a toe." We can simply notice, too, that there is a heart that is beating; there are lungs that are expanding and contracting; there is blood coursing through veins. We can also notice physical sensations such as being cold or being warm, feeling pain in the knees, back or shoulders, and so on. The point of the practice is to simply allow ourselves to become alert to the physical aspect of our being in a very easygoing and gentle way, without judging it or identifying with it.

3. You Are Not Your Feelings, You Are Not Your Thoughts

We've become so used to the potency, frequency and variety of the thoughts and feelings that course through our awareness throughout the day that it's very easy to identify with and as them. This tendency is built into our very language. "I'm angry." "I'm afraid." "I'm happy. "I'm sad."

We can bring the same kind of attention we brought to our bodies to our thoughts and feelings -- gently noticing them as they arise, abide for a moment and, somewhat to our surprise perhaps, disappear. In so doing, we gently begin to recognize that our thoughts and feelings are only aspects of experience and not the totality. Our identities may be may be influenced by mental and emotional patterns in the subtle body, but we are not those patterns.

Try practicing this sort of gentle noticing the next time you feel a strong emotion. Allow the emotion to arise, but look at it as an event occurring within a broader frame of awareness. Tell yourself that what ever you're experiencing is not the total "you," that what you're feeling is only one piece of your experience.

We can also bring this same sort of attention to our thoughts which are often intimately linked to our identities. The speed with which thoughts appear and disappear across the screens of our minds are like out-of-control "breaking news update crawlers" that appear across television screens. We can hardly read one before another takes its place -- and another and another. Our awareness is overwhelmed by fleeting impressions, half-grasped notions, bits of sentences, ideas that have only begun to form before they disappear.

As we gradually turn attention to our thoughts, rather than being irritated, disturbed or carried away by them, we slowly find ourselves amazed by their coming and going. We begin to appreciate the entire process of thinking in and of itself.

4. Rest In Space

In time, we also begin to notice gaps between thoughts and feelings -- barely perceptible moments in which there is simply no thought, no feeling, just pure, open awareness. As these gaps grow longer -- and a little less startling -- we can begin to rest within them. For a brief second or so, we can have a direct experience of what in the Buddhist tradition is known as the essence of mind, or the nature of mind: a luminous, limitless awareness that is not chopped up into subject and object, self and other, perceiver and perceived. All distinctions between "the looker" and what was being "looked at" fall away, and for an instant we experience complete lack of separation between everything we feel, see, smell, and so on, and the awareness that sees, smells and feels. Our hearts and minds are completely open, and the spark that is our Buddha nature leaps up into a brilliant flame.

5. Share the Bliss

Unfortunately, it's easy to get caught up in the sense of well-being that arises when our hearts and minds open and to forget the most essential lesson that the Buddha tried to instill in us as the deepest of all teachings: that until all of us are free, none of us are free. Rather than rest in our own comfort zones, our contentment dimming our awareness of the pain and hardship that others around us may be feeling, we must remember that the ultimate goal of opening our hearts and minds is to free all living creatures from their patterns so that they can experience the openness, wisdom, and warmth that is the essence of our being.

Buddha nature is infinite; beings in need of awakening are infinite; and our journey, once begun, is never done

Open Heart, Open Mind: Awakening the Power of Essence Love
by Tsoknyi Rinpoche, Eric Swanson









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The Meaning Of Virtue And Virtuosity

By Tsoknyi Rinpoche

From: Open Heart, Open Mind

The Buddhist path is often described in terms of steps one takes to lead what is commonly referred to as a "virtuous life" -- an idea that strikes a chord of anxiety into the hearts of people new to Buddhism (and quite a few long-term practitioners).

The meaning of virtue has been debated and defined in various ways by different schools of Buddhism-- as well as other religious and philosophical traditions-- over the centuries. There are many stories, for example, about Buddhist monastics who, in the centuries following the Buddha's passing, took exceptional precautions to avoid stepping on insects or the possibility of inhaling them. So it's quite natural that people might wonder what virtue means in the context of modern life, with its abundance of choices and challenges. At various times, people have asked, "Do I have to become a vegetarian?" "Do I have to give up sex, alcohol, or good food?" "Do I have to stop watching TV?" "Do I have to stop going out with my friends?"

Of course, there's a lot to be said for living simply. Fewer distractions allow us more time to devote to examining our lives and the effects of our thoughts, feelings, and behavior, not only on our own lives but on the lives of all the people with whom we come into contact. But that is only one aspect of a manner of living that might be described as virtuous.

In a broader sense, virtue, or virtuous living -- as I understand it -- comes very close to the Hippocratic oath that doctors take: First, do no harm. The earliest and most persistent descriptions of virtue in the Buddhist teachings involve avoiding activities that cause harm to others, including killing, theft, sexual abuse, lying, slander, and gossip. Interestingly enough, they also include activities that may harm oneself, such as overindulging in intoxicants, food, and certain types of habitual activity -- understandings that evolved long before terms like "addiction" or "obesity" were defined by modern medicine.

But the Tibetan word gewa, which is often translated as "virtue," has a deeper, more significant meaning. Like the old Middle English word vertue, which was related to the effectiveness of an herb or other plant to strengthen certain qualities inherent in the body and the mind, gewa means making choices that extend our emotional and intellectual strength, illuminate our potential greatness, build our confidence, and enhance our ability to assist those in need of help.

A third, and final, understanding of virtue -- which has evolved from conversations with a few friends and students around the world -- builds on this aspect of developing or cultivating our strengths. Artists who exhibit extraordinary skill in their respective fields are known as "virtuosos" -- an English word that comes from an Italian term signifying someone who demonstrates exceptional skill.

"Virtuoso" may not have been a common term in the language the Buddha spoke or in the languages in which his teachings were passed down orally from teacher to student for several hundred years until they were finally written down. However, everything I've learned from my own studies, the teachings I've received, and my own experience as a teacher, counselor, husband, and father suggests to me that what the Buddha discovered during the days and nights he spent meditating under a tree in Bodhgaya, India, was a method through which we can all become virtuosos in the art of living.

Each of us is gifted with the ability to recognize within ourselves an astonishing capacity for brilliance, kindness, generosity, and courage. We also have the potential to awaken everyone with whom we come in contact to the possibility of greatness. We become virtuosos to the extent that we develop our potential to the point at which -- even without our conscious intention -- our actions and our words serve to awaken the "human artist" in everyone.

But in order to do that, we have to understand the basic material with which we're working. A skillful potter has to learn to recognize the qualities and characteristics of a lump of clay with which he or she works. A virtuoso farmer has to understand the relationship between soil and seeds, fertilizer and water, and implement that understanding in terms of actions.

Likewise, in order to become virtuoso human beings, we have to begin by understanding our basic nature -- the clay, so to speak, with which we're given to work.

And that, to me, is the essence of the Buddha's teaching. It's within our power to become virtuoso humans. The process involves a step-by-step examination of the ways in which we relate to ourselves and the world around us. As we integrate this examination into our daily lives, we begin to realize the possibility of living each moment of our lives with a previously unimagined richness and delight.

This approach, advanced 2,500 years ago, asks us to look at who we are in terms beyond the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves, about others, and about the world around us.

So let's begin to practice virtuosity in our own lives. Let's ask questions of ourselves.

Who are we? What are we? How can we learn not just to survive but to thrive in the midst of the challenges we face moment by moment, day by day, year by year?

The answers may surprise -- and possibly even delight -- us.

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