Meditation is Easy for Old Folks

I have been re-reading the Teachings of Ajahn Chah. Such a delight and food for one's practice . . . I was especially interested in what he had to say about aging and mindfulness practice. A common view is that one should undertake mindfulness at a young age while one's health is still good. Ajahn Chah takes another stance, that I find worth sharing for the many older folks interested in taking up mindfulness practice. Here are some excerpts:

Older persons, who often can’t sit very well, can contemplate especially well and practice concentration easily; they too can develop a lot of wisdom. How is it that they can develop wisdom? Everything is rousing them. When they open their eyes, they don’t see things as clearly as they used to. Their teeth give them trouble and fall out. Their bodies ache most of the time. Just that is the place of study. So really, meditation is easy for old folks. Meditation is hard for youngsters. Their teeth are strong, so they can enjoy their food. They sleep soundly. Their faculties are intact and the world is fun and exciting to them, so they get deluded in a big way. For the old ones, when they chew on something hard they’re soon in pain. [...] When they open their eyes their sight is fuzzy. In the morning their backs ache. In the evening their legs hurt. That’s it! This is really an excellent subject to study. Some of you older people will say you can’t meditate. What do you want to meditate on? Who will you learn meditation from? This is seeing the body in the body and sensation in sensation. Are you seeing these or are you running away? Saying you can’t practice because you’re too old is only due to wrong understanding. The question is, are things clear to you? Elderly persons have a lot of thinking, a lot of sensation, a lot of discomfort and pain. Everything appears! If they meditate, they can really testify to it. So I say that meditation is easy for old folks. They can do it best. [...] You have to see it within yourself. When you sit, it’s true; when you stand up, it’s true; when you walk, it’s true. Everything is a hassle, everything is presenting obstacles – and everything is teaching you. Isn’t this so? Can you just get up and walk away so easily now? When you stand up, it’s “Oy!” Or haven’t you noticed? And it’s “Oy!” when you walk. It’s prodding you. When you’re young you can just stand up and walk, going on your way. But you don’t really know anything. When you’re old, every time you stand up it’s “Oy!” Isn’t that what you say? “Oy! Oy!” Every time you move, you learn something. So how can you say it’s difficult to meditate? Where else is there to look? It’s all correct. 

So now, you have no excuse!

5 Contemplations For Dementia Care Partners

Sooner or later, during one's mindful journey, one becomes faced with a wall. One has a choice then. To keep bumping one's head against the inevitable, or to stop and contemplate the very nature of the wall itself. The wall is about the impermanence of life, and our need to face that truth. Many times, whenever grief wells up inside, as it did earlier today, I call upon the 5 Remembrances:

I am of the nature to grow old.

I cannot escape growing old.

I am of the nature to have ill health.

I cannot escape having ill health.

I am of the nature to die.

There is no way to escape death.

All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change.

There is no way to escape being separated from them. 

I inherit the nature of my actions in body, speech and mind.

My actions are the ground on which I stand.

Strangely enough, I find great comfort in telling myself those lines. It is as if the telling is paving the way for acceptance of what is to come, or what has already happened.  During my work with those in the early stage of cognitive impairment and also with dementia caregivers, I have learned to tailor the 5 Remembrances to more specifically address the unique challenges of the dementia journey. It goes like this:

I am of the nature to grow old.

I cannot escape growing old.

I am of the nature to have ill health of body and/or mind.

I cannot escape having ill health of either body and/or mind.

I am of the nature to die.

There is no way to escape death.

All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change.

There is no way to escape being separated from them, in either body or mind.

There is no avoiding making mistakes.

I am doing the best I can and I hold myself with compassion.

May you contemplate those words often. And may you find comfort in them. 

6 Life Lessons From Ones With Dementia

I spent Thanksgiving Day in the dementia care community where I work. Throughout the day, I got reminders about what matters in life, and what doesn't. Take a guess, then read on . . . 

Mind

Few of us pause to appreciate the beauty of our human mind. Not until we are brought face to face with the reality of a mind stripped of some of its essential functions, do we become grateful for what we have 'up there'. The ability to comprehend and make sense of things, to speak and be understood, to make decisions, to have sound judgment, to move, to have emotions, to control them, to remember what just happened, to orient ourselves visually and spatially . . . So many things we owe to the healthy mind! Every day, I marvel at my mind's ability to function so well. And I also ready myself for the eventuality of it failing some day. Not getting attached, even to the mind itself, that which makes mindfulness possible.

Body

The body that once felt eternal, has a way of betraying the very old and the ones with dementia. One by one, systems start failing. Vision, hearing are usually first. Then the legs give way, and a series of assistive devices take over. The cane, then the walker, then the wheelchair, then the reclining chair when even sitting becomes too hard . . . Pretty soon, it is the arms and hands’ turn to go limp. Bodily functions follow, that can no longer be controlled. And close to the end, even swallowing becomes a challenge. Then heart, and breath. The body, just like the mind is a wonderfully engineered machinery programmed from the start for obsolescence. While it works, we tend to treat it with nonchalance. Seeing what happens eventually serves as a powerful reminder to appreciate this body while it is still working, and to also not cling to it too much. It cannot be trusted, just like the mind.

Success

Lawyer, judge, inventor, entrepreneur, surgeon, artist, psychologist, writer . . . they made a mark in society, and had the good fortune of having success, lots of it. Now, there is hardly a trace left of their previous life, apart from fading pictures of past glorious moments, and here and there respectful references to ‘Doctor this', 'Doctor that’. Time and the inability to hang on to memories have a way of erasing what once seemed so important. The world moves on, and the young take over. Seeing this process can help us not fall into the trappings of success, and conversely, failure. No need to get too excited one way or the other. 

Money

It does not matter how much money we make or have. Eventually, we all end up without the ability to enjoy or miss those things we used to cling to. This is not to say we should not plan for the future and make sure we have a comfortable home. It just means we will eventually have to let go of all our ‘things’. Those material possessions are not what matters in the end. Very few of the people I spend time with, talk about what they used to own . . . And the ones who do, all do let go in the later stages of their illness. My mother was one of those people. 

Relationships

Nothing’s for sure, including those close relationships we take for granted. Loved ones upon whom we may have counted for comfort in our old days, those people may die on us, or have a change of heart. The old man who believes that his daughter has died is not far from the truth. His daughter is still very much alive, but she has not visited or called him in years . . . And the woman who thought her husband would be there for her, is now a widow wondering where her beloved has gone. Relationships with those we love and who love us are to be treasured. And we need to expand our circle of love to not just our family and friends, but also anyone with whom we can have a meaningful connection, even if for only a moment. 

Self

This thing we call ‘I’ is not worth getting so preoccupied with. If we live long enough, that too will be chipped away, until we no longer have a sense of identity. The glue that kept our story going will have dried up, and now there will only be a vague sense of existence, and remnants from past habits, that’s all. Yet, most of us spend so much of our lives thinking, acting based on this concept of ‘I’, ‘Me’, and ‘You’. We worry so much about what happened to 'I' in the past, and what is going to happen to it in the future. Our carefully constructed identity is indeed just a story with a beginning, middle and end. For many of us that story will end way before our final years, and in its place will be a void waiting to be filled with new meaning, new ways of occupying ourselves, right there, right now.

What life lesson(s) if any have you learned from being around persons with dementia?

Why Limit Love?

Today, I visited a very old woman.
I thought she was a man at first.
Age does that, obliterates all traces
of vanity and feminine glory.
A big, oozing wart on her cheek
kept drawing my gaze, hypnotic,
and in my heart, disgust surged.
She reached out for my hand.
Right next to my not liking, love arose,
awakened by hers. She smiled.
"Have you had lunch?"
In her mind, I was her daughter.
I flashed back on my own mother
who died two months ago.
And decided right there, why limit love?
I could become a daughter again,
if only for that moment.

Not Chasing After the Past

I was at a dinner last night and a woman there who is a rep for a cosmetics company, tried to convince me to buy her miracle anti-aging cream. 'Look at me! I am sixty one, and I look twenty years younger . . .' She took a look at my face and decided I probably needed the 'Re-Define' line.' I was polite, took her fancy brochure, and dumped it in the trash after I got home. How foolish, I thought, this refusal to go with the inevitable. 

You shouldn't chase after the past.

or place expectations on the future.

What is past 

is left behind.

The future is as yet unreached.

Whatever quality is present

you clearly see right there, 

right there.

Not taken in,

unshaken,

that's how you develop the heart.

Ardently doing your duty today,

for - who knows? - tomorrow

death may come.

There is no bargaining 

with Death and his mighty horde.

Whoever lives thus ardently, 

relentlessly ,

both day and night,

Has truly had an auspicious day:

So says the Peaceful Sage.

- Bhaddekaratta Sutta: An Auspicious Day, MN 131 - 

Are you chasing after the past?

A House of Cards

One of the gifts from spending time with the ones experiencing old age, dementia, sickness and death, is the ongoing opportunity to come closer to the true nature of life. What set the Buddha on his path is good for me too . . . I now understand why the wise man recommended charnel contemplation as one of the mindfulness practices. It is one thing to read about death, and quite another to get close to it with all senses.

Seeing, smelling, touching, being in the presence of one whose body has become a worn out, pain-ridden bag of bones, I get to reflect on the destiny of 'this' body. Being in the presence of one whose mind no longer remember even the steps for basic activities of daily living, I understand that mind is not to be trusted. Sitting at the bedside of one at the verge of death, I get a glimpse of the unavoidable, all encompassing letting go awaiting. This is how things are.

Same with witnessing the many losses to be endured by so many toward the end of their lives, as they get 'placed' in assisted living or a nursing home. A place to call home, no more. The freedom to go as one pleases, forget it. The right to privacy, no, you are getting a roommate, one who may be dying right next to you in the middle of the night.  The pleasure of sitting in the kitchen, nose happily tickled by the familiar aroma of chicken soup simmering on the stove, not an option, you are now being wheeled from your room to the dining room three times a day and that's it. The need to feel useful and contribute to the world, what do you mean? you have paid your dues, now is time to be served and cared for whether you want it or not. A diagnosis of dementia, a stroke, a car accident . . . that's all it takes for one to lose all the basic constituents of one's ordinary well-being.

How precarious the nature of our day to day happiness, and how dependent on so many unreliable factors coming together in some kind of homeostasis! The house of cards could tumble down at any moment.

Ever since my grandfather's sudden death when I was four, I have had this felt sense of tragic unpredictability. An early brush with the First Noble Truth that has shaped my way of being in the world, very early on. Decades later, and rich with many more life lessons, I get a chance to reflect on the many ways that the mind wrap itself around the most inconvenient truth of impermanence. So many mind states, some wise, others not so much. Grief, loss, anxiety, depression, mindfulness, clinging, regret, remorse, anger, fear, patience, denial, avoidance, kindness, oblivion, compulsions, delusions, detachment,  busyness, . . . Finding, verifying the truth of clinging at the base of each instance of mind-created suffering.

I don't want to reside in the house of cards. I want to rest on rock solid ground instead. How about you? What is your relationship to the house of cards? 

Two Darts, Or Just One?

On a long walk by myself yesterday, there were plenty of pleasures to be had. Temperature just right, enough sun to brighten the moment, flowers going nuts with colors, birds singing what sounded like happy notes . . . it would have been a perfect experience, except for the pain in my right shoulder.  I noticed the mind's habits with such unpleasantness. First tightening, and rebelling against such a spoiler, soon turning into full blown unpleasantness and hatred of the moment. Then, searching for a way out, hoping for pleasure to be found again, quick. From there, escaping into the world of thoughts, thinking about the future, work to be done, the pleasure of food awaiting at home . . . Anything but being in this moment. It worked. There was no more pain, only a vague dullness and the quasi-satisfaction of imagined pleasures. Nothing wrong with that, except for the subtle sadness of knowing that this was one more moment not fully lived, a delaying of the cultivation of real happiness. The hour turned into a reflection on The Dart sutta:

"When an untaught worldling is touched by a painful (bodily) feeling, he worries and grieves, he laments, beats his breast, weeps and is distraught. He thus experiences two kinds of feelings, a bodily and a mental feeling. It is as if a man were pierced by a dart and, following the first piercing, he is hit by a second dart [...]

"Having been touched by that painful feeling, he resists (and resents) it. Then in him who so resists (and resents) that painful feeling, an underlying tendency of resistance against that painful feeling comes to underlie (his mind). Under the impact of that painful feeling he then proceeds to enjoy sensual happiness. And why does he do so? An untaught worldling, O monks, does not know of any other escape from painful feelings except the enjoyment of sensual happiness. Then in him who enjoys sensual happiness, an underlying tendency to lust for pleasant feelings comes to underlie (his mind). He does not know, according to facts, the arising and ending of these feelings, nor the gratification, the danger and the escape, connected with these feelings. In him who lacks that knowledge, an underlying tendency to ignorance as to neutral feelings comes to underlie (his mind). When he experiences a pleasant feeling, a painful feeling or a neutral feeling, he feels it as one fettered by it. Such a one, O monks, is called an untaught worldling who is fettered by birth, by old age, by death, by sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief and despair. He is fettered by suffering, this I declare.

"But in the case of a well-taught noble disciple, O monks, when he is touched by a painful feeling, he will not worry nor grieve and lament, he will not beat his breast and weep, nor will he be distraught. It is one kind of feeling he experiences, a bodily one, but not a mental feeling. It is as if a man were pierced by a dart, but was not hit by a second dart following the first one [...]

"Having been touched by that painful feeling, he does not resist (and resent) it. Hence, in him no underlying tendency of resistance against that painful feeling comes to underlie (his mind). Under the impact of that painful feeling he does not proceed to enjoy sensual happiness. And why not? As a well-taught noble disciple he knows of an escape from painful feelings other than by enjoying sensual happiness. Then in him who does not proceed to enjoy sensual happiness, no underlying tendency to lust for pleasant feelings comes to underlie (his mind). He knows, according to facts, the arising and ending of those feelings, and the gratification, the danger and the escape connected with these feelings. In him who knows thus, no underlying tendency to ignorance as to neutral feelings comes to underlie (his mind). When he experiences a pleasant feeling, a painful feeling or a neutral feeling, he feels it as one who is not fettered by it. Such a one, O monks, is called a well-taught noble disciple who is not fettered by birth, by old age, by death, by sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief and despair. He is not fettered to suffering, this I declare.

Turning towards the pain in the shoulder, watching it dissolve eventually . . . and being replaced by a myriad of sensations as  I walked down Stanford avenue. Some pleasant, some not so pleasant, some without a known quality. Pain eventually moved to the other side. The body's got its own ideas. Nothing to do but watch, and make the best of each moment. I thought of the Buddha's last moments, ridden with physical pain. I need to guard against the confusion in my mind, between pain and unhappiness, and pleasure and happiness. Not worrying about what the next moment may bring in terms of pain, also allows one to relax. 

How do you deal with pain, both physical and emotional pain? 

Old Bags of Bones

I laughed so hard reading Susannah Bianchi's article in the latest issue of More magazine. Susannah talks about what it's like to be a woman of a certain age. Here is a brief excerpt, just to give you a taste:

Just when I got my brows under control, my jaw began to sag. I was stunned. What about all those upward-facing dogs I do, or the series of facial exercises (which, I'll admit, look more like tics) I perform, without fail, every day on the bus? [ . . . ] I did what any other hysterical, hormonally challenged 50-year-old would do: I became possessed. I spent most of my time in front of the mirror on a reconnaissance mission, waiting for the other jaw to drop. Out of nowhere, I seemed to have little satchels under my eyes, and laugh lines when I wasn't laughing. Add these to the occasional hot flash and a vagina as dry as a bran muffin, and I'll show you a weepy woman up on a ledge. I thought of all the ways I could handle aging without actually going under the knife. I could become a recluse like Greta Garbo, buying my groceries at the all-night Food Emporium, or just pack up and move to Japan, where they respect the elderly. ~ 'How George Clooney Saved My Self-Esteem', More, January 2012 ~

You will need to read the whole piece to know how George saved Susannah . . .

I can relate to Susannah's moments in front of the mirror. Not that I spend too much time there. But, yes, I too have had my share of surprises this past year. A few months ago, my previously smooth chin started to show some uncharacteristic bumpiness. Worried about cancer, I rushed to the dermatologist and was told to not worry. "It is just part of aging. Your skin is sagging unevenly, that's what's creating the dimple in your chin". More recently, my left knee has been acting out. A scan revealed a torn meniscus, worn knee cap, and a bit of arthritis. Yes, there is no mistaking the downward slide taken by this body that I call 'mine'.  This body is increasingly feeling like an old bag of bones in need of more and more maintenance. 

Not a big deal really. 

Of course, I have my practice to thank for this relative ease with what is objectively a rather unpleasant process. Without the understanding, and the acceptance of the true nature of this human life, and of impermanence, who knows how I would react?

How do you feel about aging?

Look At Me

Here is a gift, given to me by Jon, one of the readers of Mind Deep, who got it from another blogger. This is a gift that is meant to be shared:

(Kate the writer of this poem, was unable to speak but occasionally seen to write. After her death, her hospital locker was emptied and this poem was found.)

What do you see nurses what do you see?

Are you thinking when you are looking at me... A crabby old women not very wise,

Uncertain of habit with far away eyes, who dribbles her food and makes no reply, when you say in a loud voice 'I do wish you'd try'

Who seems not to notice the things that you do and forever is losing a stocking or shoe. 

Who unresisting or not let's you do as you will, with bathing or feeding a long day to fill. Is that what you're thinking is that what you see? Then open your eyes nurse you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am.... As I sit here so still, as I use at your bidding and eat at your will. I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother, brothers and sisters who love one another. 

A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet, dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet: A bride soon, at twenty my heart gives a leap. Remembering the vows that I promise to keep.

At twenty five now I have young of my own, who need me to build a secure happy home. A young women of thirty my young now grow fast bound to each other with ties that should last. At forty my young ones now grown, will soon be gone but my man stands beside me to see I don't mourn.

At fifty once more babies play round my knee, again we know children my loved one and me. Dark days are upon me my husband is dead, I look at the future, I shudder with dread. For my young are all busy rearing young of their own and I think of the years and the love I have known.

I'm an old women now and nature is cruel, 'I' is her jest to make old age look like a fool. The body it crumbles, grace and vigour depart. There now is a stone where once I had a heart. But inside this old carcase a young girl still dwells and now and again my battered heart swells. 

I remember the joys, I remember the pain and I'm moving and living life over again. I think of the years all too few- gone too fast and accept the stark fact that nothing can last. 

So open your eyes nurses open and see, not a crabbit old women, look closer- see ME.

Wow!

The Old Age Home Contemplation

For greater mindfulness, one can heed the Buddha's advice and go to the cemetery: 

(1) And further, monks, as if a monk sees a body dead one, two, or three days; swollen, blue and festering, thrown in the charnel ground, he then applies this perception to his own body thus: "Verily, also my own body is of the same nature; such it will become and will not escape it."

Thus he lives contemplating the body in the body internally, or he lives contemplating the body in the body externally, or he lives contemplating the body in the body internally and externally. He lives contemplating origination-factors in the body, or he lives contemplating dissolution factors in the body, or he lives contemplating origination-and-dissolution-factors in the body. Or his mindfulness is established with the thought: "The body exists," to the extent necessary just for knowledge and mindfulness, and he lives detached, and clings to nothing in the world. Thus also, monks, a monk lives contemplating the body in the body.

(2) And further, monks, as if a monk sees a body thrown in the charnel ground, being eaten by crows, hawks, vultures, dogs, jackals or by different kinds of worms, he then applies this perception to his own body thus: "Verily, also my own body is of the same nature; such it will become and will not escape it."

Thus he lives contemplating the body in the body...

(3) And further, monks, as if a monk sees a body thrown in the charnel ground and reduced to a skeleton with some flesh and blood attached to it, held together by the tendons...

(4) And further, monks, as if a monk sees a body thrown in the charnel ground and reduced to a skeleton blood-besmeared and without flesh, held together by the tendons...

(5) And further, monks, as if a monk sees a body thrown in the charnel ground and reduced to a skeleton without flesh and blood, held together by the tendons...

(6) And further, monks, as if a monk sees a body thrown in the charnel ground and reduced to disconnected bones, scattered in all directions_here a bone of the hand, there a bone of the foot, a shin bone, a thigh bone, the pelvis, spine and skull...

(7) And further, monks, as if a monk sees a body thrown in the charnel ground, reduced to bleached bones of conchlike color...

(8) And further, monks, as if a monk sees a body thrown in the charnel ground reduced to bones, more than a year-old, lying in a heap...

(9) And further, monks, as if a monk sees a body thrown in the charnel ground, reduced to bones gone rotten and become dust, he then applies this perception to his own body thus: "Verily, also my own body is of the same nature; such it will become and will not escape it."

` The Nine Cemetery Contemplations, from Satipatthana Sutta: The Foundations of Mindfulness `

Or one can spend time in an old age home, or a hospice, and witness day after day, the inevitable deterioration of body and (often) mind, that comes with  death approaching.

Hence, coming to the same deep realization:

Truly, also my own body is of the same nature; such it will become and will not escape it . . . 

Truly, also my own mind is of the same nature; such it might very well become . . . 

Service work, it's good for the ones we serve. It's also one of the most powerful spiritual practices to help one attain freedom from greed, hate and delusion. 

Free No More

So many freedoms most of us take for granted:

The freedom to sleep in
The freedom to take a long bath
The freedom to pick which clothes to wear
The freedom to work and feel useful
The freedom to decide when to eat and what
The freedom to get on the bus
The freedom to pull weeds in the garden
The freedom to go out for a walk, whenever
The freedom to have a glass of wine
The freedom to be alone, or not
The freedom to spend money on small things
The freedom to pick up the phone
The freedom to drive places, any place
The freedom to stay up late
The freedom to choose

So many freedoms millions of people in our country do not have. They are not in prisons, but they might as well be. They are the millions of (mostly) elders living in long-term care institutions.

The U-Bend on Happiness

Sitting on his front porch, gently rocking, the man waved and gave me a smile. The old man in a yellow sweater embodied what mind needed most in that moment. The gift of quiet contentment, nothing to be had. Since my walk last night, I have been carrying his image. 

According to the following graph, my age puts me at the lowest point on the well-being scale . . . No wonder I have been feeling so much angst!

I am not sure I want to wait thirty more years to reach the old man's bliss . . . These older folks know something I don't and I want to learn from them:

Older people have fewer rows and come up with better solutions to conflict. They are better at controlling their emotions, better at accepting misfortune and less prone to anger. In one study, for instance, subjects were asked to listen to recordings of people supposedly saying disparaging things about them. Older and younger people were similarly saddened, but older people less angry and less inclined to pass judgment, taking the view, as one put it, that “you can’t please all the people all the time.”

There are various theories as to why this might be so. Laura Carstensen, professor of psychology at Stanford University, talks of “the uniquely human ability to recognise our own mortality and monitor our own time horizons”. Because the old know they are closer to death, she argues, they grow better at living for the present. They come to focus on things that matter now—such as feelings—and less on long-term goals. “When young people look at older people, they think how terrifying it must be to be nearing the end of your life. But older people know what matters most.” For instance, she says, “young people will go to cocktail parties because they might meet somebody who will be useful to them in the future, even though nobody I know actually likes going to cocktail parties.”

There are other possible explanations. Maybe the sight of contemporaries keeling over infuses survivors with a determination to make the most of their remaining years. Maybe people come to accept their strengths and weaknesses, give up hoping to become chief executive or have a picture shown in the Royal Academy, and learn to be satisfied as assistant branch manager, with their watercolour on display at the church fete. “Being an old maid”, says one of the characters in a story by Edna Ferber, an (unmarried) American novelist, was “like death by drowning—a really delightful sensation when you ceased struggling.” Perhaps acceptance of ageing itself is a source of relief. “How pleasant is the day”, observed William James, an American philosopher, “when we give up striving to be young—or slender.”

Accepting, enjoying the present . . . 

Mind Over Body

This past weekend was a long ordeal of one physical pain after the other. Flu-like symptoms from typhoid shot, layered upon flare-up of chronic lower back-ache, on top of new pain from heel spur. What to do, but give into tiredness, and resulting dullness from mind? I tried to meditate, first sitting, then lying down, but did not have the energy to concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time.

Now that I have regained happiness in the body, and alertness of mind, I can investigate further, so that I am better prepared the next time around. In his book, 'Living Dhamma', Ajahn Chah provides the guidance I am looking for. Here are some key excerpts:

We must be able to be at peace with the body, no matter what state it is in. The Buddha taught that we should ensure that it's only the body that is locked up in jail and not the mind be imprisoned along with it. Now as your body begins to run down and wear out with age, don't resist, but also don't let your mind deteriorate along with it. Keep the mind separate. Give energy to the mind by realizing the truth of the way things are. The Lord Buddha taught that this is the nature of the body, it can't be any other way. Having been born it gets old and sick and then it dies. This is a great truth that you are presently witnessing. Look at the body with wisdom and realize this.

. . . So the Buddha taught us to probe and examine the body, from the soles of the feet up to the crown of the head, and then back down to the feet again. Just take a look at the body. What sort of things do you see? Is there anything intrinsically clean there? Can you find any abiding essence? This whole body is steadily degenerating. The Buddha taught us to see that it doesn't belong to us. It's natural for the body to be this way, because all conditioned phenomena are subject to change. How else would you have it? In fact there is nothing wrong with the way the body is. It's not the body that causes suffering, it's wrong thinking. When you see things in the wrong way, there's bound to be confusion.

It's like the water of a river. It naturally flows downhill, it never flows uphill. That's its nature. If a person was to go and stand on the river bank and want the water to flow back uphill, he would be foolish. Wherever he went his foolish thinking would allow him no peace of mind. He would suffer because of his wrong view, his thinking against the stream. If he had right view he would see that the water must inevitably flow downhill, and until he realized and accepted that fact he would be bewildered and frustrated.

The river that must flow down the gradient is like your body. Having been young your body's become old and is meandering towards its death. Don't go wishing it were otherwise, it's not something you have the power to remedy. The Buddha told us to see the way things are and then let go of our clinging to them. Take this feeling of letting go as your refuge. Keep meditating even if you feel tired and exhausted. Let your mind be with the breath. Take a few deep breaths and then establish the attention on the breath, using the mantra word Bud-dho. Make this practice continual. The more exhausted you feel the more subtle and focused your concentration must be, so that you can cope with any painful sensations that arise. When you start to feel fatigued then bring all your thinking to a halt, let the mind gather itself together and then turn to knowing the breath. Just keep up the inner recitation, Bud-dho, Bud-dho.

. . . You can't do anything about the way the body is. You can beautify it a little, make it attractive and clean for a while, like the young girls who paint their lips and let their nails grow long, but when old age arrives, everybody's in the same boat. That's the way the body is, you can't make it any other way. What you can improve and beautify is the mind.

Anyone can build a house of wood and bricks, but the Buddha taught that that sort of home is not our real home, it's only nominally ours. It's home in the world and it follows the ways of the world. Our real home is inner peace. An external, material home may well be pretty but it is not very peaceful. There's this worry and then that, this anxiety and then that. So we say it's not our real home, it's external to us. Sooner or later we'll have to give it up. it's not a place we can live in permanently because it doesn't truly belong to us, it belongs to the world. Our body is the same. We take it to be a self, to be "me" or "mine," but in fact it's not really so at all, it's another worldly home. Your body has followed its natural course from birth, until now it's old and sick, and you can't forbid it from doing that. That's the way it is. Wanting it to be any different would be as foolish as wanting a duck to be like a chicken. When you see that that's impossible — that a duck must be a duck and a chicken must be a chicken, and that the bodies have to get old and die — you will find courage and energy. However much you want the body to go on lasting, it won't do that. 

. . . Even if you don't let go, everything is starting to leave you anyway. Can you see that, how all the different parts of your body are trying to slip away? Take your hair; when you were young it was thick and black. Now it's falling out. It's leaving. Your eyes used to be good and strong but now they're weak, your sight is unclear. When your organs have had enough they leave, this isn't their home. When you were a child your teeth were healthy and firm, now they're wobbly, or you've got false ones. Your eyes, ears, nose, tongue — everything is trying to leave because this isn't their home. You can't make a permanent home in conditions, you can only stay for a short time and then you have to go. It's like a tenant watching over his tiny little house with failing eyes. His teeth aren't so good, his eyes aren't so good, his body's not so healthy, everything is leaving.

. . . So you needn't worry about anything because this isn't your real home, it's only a temporary shelter. Having come into this world you should contemplate its nature. Everything there is is preparing to disappear. Look at your body. Is there anything there that's still in its original form? Is your skin as it used to be? Is your hair? They aren't the same, are they? Where has everything gone? This is nature, the way things are. When their time is up, conditions go their way. In this world there is nothing to rely on — it's an endless round of disturbance and trouble, pleasure and pain. There's no peace.

. . . When you see that there's nothing real or substantial you can rely on you'll feel wearied and disenchanted. Being disenchanted doesn't mean you are averse, the mind is clear. It sees that there's nothing to be done to remedy this state of affairs, it's just the way the world is. Knowing in this way you can let go of attachment, letting go with a mind that is neither happy nor sad, but at peace with conditions through seeing their changing nature with wisdom. Anicca vata sankhara — all conditions are impermanent.

To put it simply, impermanence is the Buddha. If we truly see an impermanent condition we'll see that it's permanent. It's permanent in the sense that its subjection to change is unchanging. This is the permanence that living beings possess. There is continual transformation, from childhood through to old age, and that very impermanence, that propensity to change, is permanent and fixed. If you look at it like this your heart will be at ease. It's not just you who has to go through this, it's everyone

I needed that shot of wisdom. The path is more clear now. While the body may be a lost cause, the mind is not. It is up to me to make peace with the reality of impermanent body, starting now with the contemplation of Ajahn Chah's teachings.

The Gift of Old Age

It hit me last night, as I washed my face. There, close up in the mirror, in plain sight for me to see, the subtle pooling of tiny wrinkles around my mouth. Over the years, I have drawn much contentment from my youthful looks. Got good genes, that way! Still, time marches on, and old age is on its way. It's not just the new lines on my face. There are also the pains and aches, more frequent, more persistent. The having to give up certain favorite activities because of knees, then back,  . . .

To be confronted with the reality of old age, and more sickness, and death getting closer for sure, has actually been a blessing. It has brought a sense of urgency, and also greater reality, into how to view my life. A radical change of attitude was in order, and the only sensible way that spoke to my heart and mind, both, has been the Buddha's path.

Who Is In Charge?

Sitting, ease of breathing soon gives way to pain in right middle back. I pulled a muscle a week ago. Pain becomes more intense with each breath. Throbbing, burning, radiating up and down whole right side. Meeting up other, chronic pain in lower back. And belly breath. New pain, old pain, belly breath, all three fighting for same space. Readjusting with each rise, and fall of diaphragm. I tell myself, to befriend the pain, all of it. Truth is annoyance, and wishing for pain to go away. Meanwhile breathing still, and staying with breath, when not subject to passing thoughts. Noticing how pain disappears in the midst of thoughts. Fear arises, at once. Huge, surprising. Trying to make sense, then deciding not now. With fear, comes a series of images. Obliterated castle, only contours still visible. Big old tree, turning into a dead tree. Thinking mind wants to interpret. Not now. Pain in body hardly there, anymore. Only fear. Monumental.

More and more, I get reminders of the reality of my fifty two year-old body, and of old age, and death approaching, surely. No matter how gracious I try to be about the whole thing, and pretend that, it is part of the course, and I don't mind aging, the reality is I am scared shitless. Facing my fear is one step in the direction of wisdom.

"If our body really belonged to us, it would obey our commands. If we say, 'Don't get old', or 'I forbid your to get sick', does it obey us? No, it takes no notice. We only rent this house, not own it." Ajahn Chah (as related by Jack Kornfield, in Voices of Insight)