Even a casual visitor to Vichara remarks about a “feel” to the place. Some people say it feels like quiet, or peace, or calm. What can be noticed or talked about is an opportunity, even for just a moment, to pause and contact the bare present moment. If this is what you are looking for, then that contact even if it is brief is felt as a pleasant pause. It could call it a pregnant pause because it contains the opportunity to inquire.

    We call this a privileged environment. It has been established by thousands of hours of meditation on these grounds and guarded by rules which protect that invisible sense of peace we love. It’s a rare thing to be able to enter an environment that causes a pause. Everything in our daily life is geared to grabbing our attention or provoking engagement. Here there is something different, and people who have practiced here for a long time recognize the value of the practice and the place. We become defenders of the rules.

     Quiet or silence is one of the rules. No unnecessary talking or activity. This isn’t because silence is the aim. It is because an effort is being made by everyone to not distract each other from their practice of mindfulness or inquiry; to not intrude on or rob each other of the moment of discovery. Because that is where we are always poised and we already do plenty to distract ourselves.

     This is the reason for no talking in the parking lot. At first it seems cold or uncaring not to greet people or say “good morning” or something. But it is the ultimate generosity to give the relief of not having to interact, to gather up an appropriate persona that is presented to another person. We are taught that when someone says something to you, it means they care. When you respond it means you care.  But here the real caring is to be left alone and to leave the other alone also. Because this place exists for only one thing, waking up, and a lot has gone into constructing an environment that promotes that and into keeping it strong. Usually people who are not interested in that go away, but sometimes people really are interested and it takes a little while to appreciate the different flavor of quiet.

     Continuing that theme, it is important when someone asks a question in Darshan that we all listen to that question, and then we listen to the answer in silence. If we have something to say either about the question or answer, we can look at that and see if it needs to be said. Spontaneity is good at times, but we need to be paying attention to what is going on in our mind. We should not be hesitant or afraid to ask a question because of how we think it will sound, or what it might expose of our ignorance. We actually want this to happen. We want to be looking or paying attention when we ask. For this reason, if we hesitate or feel the question comes out wrong, that is important. There is information for the questioner and the teacher in this exchange. How the question is formed and delivered is a delicate moment and should not be interrupted by another person adding another view. This is not saying someone cannot add a word when the aging brain of the questioner or teacher needs an assist; it is a caution against not re-wording or reformatting the question according to another person’s view. 

     The bell that ends Darshan begins a pregnant space of time when insight can bubble up. We have used the energy in the room to help us see. We continue to look as we quietly leave the room, get our shoes, and go across the parking lot. It is hard to avoid overhearing a conversation taking place as we pass, and immediately the inner climate can switch from peace or inquiry to the contents of what someone else is interested in. If you find you have a pressing question after Darshan, you are NOT entitled to the teacher’s attention. There may be a guidance session scheduled or the teacher may need to leave because he is giving another talk later. You can ask if you may ask a question or you can ask for an appointment, and you might be invited to sit down. Have respect for the room, for the teacher, and for yourself.

     When DuPont Roshi held guidance sessions he asked that we arrive on time and alone. Having someone else to talk to after a guidance session interfered with the process. What is being investigated is our mind, our views, our beliefs, our suffering. Talking with another person makes that harder.

This approach may seem harsh, but it creates an environment that we grow to love because we can see this is our best opportunity. We are not bad if we forget, or we want distraction or interaction, but we try to respect the other person’s opportunity. Roshi said “You will do for others what you would never do for yourself.” 

     The difference between mindfulness and inquiry:

Since we are talking about the protected environment necessary for examining mind, I thought I would talk about how to begin inquiry. We are given some instruction in mindfulness, and we begin where Buddha told us to, with mindfulness of the body. This can start with counting the breath or the feeling of the breath. Even experienced meditators reach for this anchor at times as a way of entering the present moment, but it should not be seen as an end in itself and the counting go on forever. It is an entry practice and once it has provided entry into a less agitated mind/body space, it can fade. 

     The self is always present in mindfulness, at least the mindfulness I know. There is some kind of interior evaluation or commentary going on; an observer and an action. You are observing yourself being mindful. It is a relief to stop agitating over the present worry or upset. But holding attention on the present activity as a way of escaping or shutting down an uncomfortable reaction is a placebo and will not end that cycle of agitation.

     The most important part of this stage is that it not be rushed through using an idea of an imaginary peaceful Buddhist heaven as a substitute for the real thing. Each insight provides the unblocking. That is why as the mind settles down, inquiry can begin. 

     We can ask ourselves questions all along. The trouble is that it is the agitated mind that is asking and providing the answers. What we are after is answers from the heart. The answers the heart provides don’t have words. They consist of insight and by the time that makes it to the brain, it might get misstated, or it might not sound like it makes any sense. The awkwardness of the words doesn’t mean they are not accurate or that we have not discovered the authentic, it just means that words are not created to express the inexpressible. They come from the world of duality. The magic of koans is that they force you to ask a question that our intellect cannot answer, and as much as we might love the intellectual, scriptural answer, we can grow to love the process of the deeper dive. The feeling of the probe is an invitation to open our heart to what it has been looking for all our life.

     What we need is interest, some ability to remember what we want to know or where we want to go, patience, and the willingness to step out of the way of the answer. That is, to allow the heart to speak without words and the honesty to leave it uncolored with self (ideas, viewpoints, beliefs). 

     Each person’s inquiry questions are unique. They might be so far from our conscious mind that they seem inaccessible, like a yearning for love or peace. Asking a koan question might seem remote or unrelated to our present difficulty, but the structure of the koan is such that it gets us to sit still with the question and with no answer, open our hearts to knowing, invite the answer, and then wait, while continuing to look.

     An answer may not be a word answer, or something formed into words. It might be a feeling or a knowing. Honest questions are gates to awakening. When we sense a gate or an opportunity to open we do not have to go through. When they open we can remain outside, or we can enter when we are ready. But posing the question invites insight, invites that opening.