Introduction to Tantra: The Transformation of Desire (7 page)

Even if we turn away from material objects and toward some higher spiritual reality for a solution to our problems, our limiting self-conceptions can still severely restrict whatever benefits we may gain. It is common for people who take a religious path to feel that there is an unbridgeable gap between themselves, stranded down here in the mud, and some higher being way up in the sky somewhere. The lower our opinion of our own potential, the more pitiful are the prayers that we make. We may cry, “Please save me, God!”

“Please help me, Buddha!” but as long as we remain wrapped in our own self-pity it is questionable how much benefit we can receive.

TH E CH ALLENGE OF EX P LORI NG I NNER SP ACE

The tantric technique of identifying ourselves as a deity is a direct opponent to this self-pitying attitude. The more we can identify ourselves as having a body and mind of pure clear light, the more we open ourselves up to the beneficial forces existing inside and outside ourselves. We have already mentioned how, through creative visualization, we can call upon inborn forces of healing and cure ourselves of even the most dreadful diseases. As this example shows, our body and mind are dependent upon one another and, of the two, it is our mind that is the primary shaper of our experience. If the mental image we have of ourselves is positive, then our actions are naturally filled with self-confidence, and the impression we make upon others is one of strength and vitality. On the other hand, if we have a low opinion of ourselves, we appear weak and ineffective, attract many problems and easily fall victim to accident and disease.

Over and over again our experiences prove that it is our mental outlook that is fundamentally responsible for whether we are successful or unsuccessful, healthy or ill, attractive or ugly, happy or depressed. Nevertheless, when we face difficulties in our life we habitually look outside ourselves for a solution.

Instead of dealing directly with our mind itself and developing an attitude that will transform our experiences for the better, we take a much more superficial approach and try to manipulate our outer circumstances in an attempt to solve our problems. But this never brings lasting satisfaction. It does not matter how many external aspects of our life we change; if these changes are not accompanied by a deep mental transformation, they can only be successful momentarily. Sooner or later our problems will reassert themselves and we will be as uncomfortable and dissatisfied as before.

Although we all have a fundamentally pure nature, it is not easy to get in touch with it. The gross way our mind ordinarily functions drowns out this deeper, more subtle vibration to such an extent that we generally remain unaware of its existence. If we truly want to connect with this subtle essence, we need to quiet all distractions and loosen the hold our ordinary appearances and conceptions have on us. In other words we need to create space, space in which our essentially pure nature can function uninterruptedly. Then, when we employ the tantric techniques of visualizing ourselves as a deity, we will not be pretending. Rather, we will be bringing to the surface the inner, divine qualities that have always existed within the depths of our being.

The methods for creating this necessary space are contained in the various prerequisites for the practice of tantra. If we attempt to use the extremely powerful transformational energies of tantra without first training in these prerequisites, or preliminaries, there is no way our practice will be successful.

Instead, we may even do great harm to ourselves. A powerful jet plane may be the fastest way of getting from one place to another, but if someone without any training is put into the pilot seat the result will be nothing but disaster.

Similarly, although tantra is the speediest vehicle for reaching complete fulfillment, practicing its methods without first preparing our body and mind would be extremely reckless, showing deep ignorance of the entire purpose of tantra.

Eme rging f rom Dissa tisf a c tion

THE MAJOR PREREQUISITES for the practice of tantra—commonly called the three principal aspects of the sutra vehicle to enlightenment—are renunciation, the dedicated heart of bodhichitta, and the correct view of emptiness. Here, to emphasize that the cultivation of these three states of mind creates the space in which tantric transformation can take place, we discuss them under the chapter headings emerging, opening, and dissolving.

First comes renunciation: the mind emerging from its ordinary, limiting preoccupations and taking an interest instead in realizing its unlimited, completely liberated potential.

WH AT I S RENUNCI ATI ON?

Some of the preliminary methods for making space within our mind have been mentioned already. For example, tantra can only be practiced effectively once we have become disillusioned with our ordinary way of grasping at sensory desires. We must have a deep, heartfelt understanding that such grasping never leads to satisfaction but only to pain and disappointment. If we fail to see how our ordinary attachment to pleasure binds us tightly to the wheel of repeated disappointment (samsara), we will make the same mistakes with tantra that we have been making in our ordinary pursuits of happiness.

Whenever we experience a blissful sensation as a result of our practice, we will grasp at it as something self-existent and definitely capable of giving us endless enjoyment. Like a spider waiting for a fly, we will pounce greedily onto whatever attractive experience comes along. Trying to squeeze pleasure out of things in this way is completely deluded and as long as we have such an unrealistic attitude we will never know true satisfaction. If we do not let go of this grasping attitude we will unintentionally turn tantra into yet another meaningless journey around in circles.

So, first of all, we need to develop a certain amount of renunciation. Because renunciation is often confused with the fearful, rejecting state of mind I criticized earlier, perhaps I will start by describing what renunciation is not.

If a situation is difficult, we can renounce it by giving it up or avoiding it; this may be called renunciation but it is not the renunciation of samsara. Or perhaps our heart is broken because we fought with our friend, so we move to another city to escape further pain. Again, this is not renunciation. Or perhaps we cannot cope with society any longer so we run away into the bush declaring, “I renounce worldly life completely!” By living like an animal without any of the conveniences of civilization we are certainly renouncing something, but this is still not true renunciation.

We may think that renunciation has something to do with religious observance, that by studying spiritual teachings and practicing meditation we are a true renunciate. But this is not necessarily so. If someone criticizes what we are doing—“You are just on a weird Eastern trip!”—and we get upset, this shows we have not developed renunciation at all. Instead, it is a sign that we are holding onto our religion as we would any ordinary sense object. In other words, by our grasping attitude we have turned a spiritual practice into yet another form of ordinary attachment.

What the development of true renunciation implies is that we no longer rely on sensory pleasures for our ultimate happiness; we see the futility of expecting deep satisfaction from such limited, transitory phenomena. It is important to understand this point clearly. Renunciation is not the same as giving up pleasure or denying ourselves happiness. It means giving up our unreal expectations about ordinary pleasures. These expectations themselves are what turn pleasure into pain. It cannot be said too often that there is nothing wrong with pleasure. It is our grasping, exaggerating, distorting, and polluting attitude toward pleasure that must be abandoned.

DEVELOP I NG DETACH MENT

The Tibetan term generally translated as “renunciation” has the literal meaning of “definite emergence.” It indicates a deep, heartfelt decision definitely to emerge from the repeated frustrations and disappointments of ordinary life. Simply stated, renunciation is the feeling of being so completely fed up with our recurring problems that we are finally ready to turn away from our attachments to this and that and begin searching for another way to make our life satisfying and meaningful. Thus the cultivation of renunciation, or definite emergence, involves detaching ourselves from those sticky habits of attachment that hold us back from experiencing our fullest human potential.

There are certain times during our life (as will be discussed in Chapter 10) when our senses automatically withdraw from their objects and we experience what could be called a natural detachment, or a natural renunciation. At such times there is nothing for us to grasp onto and nothing for us to be attached to. In such a state, even the most attractive sensory object is powerless to magnetize and divert our mind. But generally we are anything but detached when it comes to the objects of our experience. We are continually attracted to and hypnotized by a never-ending stream of sense impressions and forever on the lookout for something new and different to excite and interest us. If we own a car, that is not good enough: we need two. And when we have two, it is still not good enough: we need a boat. Even the boat is not enough: we need a bigger one. And so it goes on and on to infinity. This is dissatisfaction, the very opposite of the truly renounced, or emerging, mind.

Somehow we need to learn to be natural, to be naturally detached from material objects, from our grasping after this and that. I am not saying this because, as a backward Tibetan, I am jealous of wealthy Westerners. Nor am I saying that you are bad because you remain rich while others are poor. I am merely trying to answer the question: “Why are we dissatisfied?”

We can always find some external cause to blame for our dissatisfaction —“There is not enough of this, not enough of that”—but this is never the real reason for our restlessness and disappointment. What is missing is inside and this is what we all have to recognize. Satisfaction is not dependent on material objects; it is something that comes from simplicity, inner simplicity.

When I talk of being detached what I mean is to be simpler, more easy-going.

Detachment does not mean totally renouncing everything. It means that you loosen your grip and be more relaxed. There are many pleasures available in the world, but as long as you are uptight and anxious, fearfully holding onto your money and possessions, your wealth will only make you more and more unhappy. If you do not know how to relax and be satisfied with what you have, if you do not know how to appreciate the natural beauty of your environment, if you do not know how to be simple, then even if you were to possess all the money in the world you would still be miserable.

Renunciation, then, does not mean that we should give up our pleasure. Far from it! The whole philosophy of Buddhism in general and of tantra in particular is that, as human beings with virtually unlimited potential, we should aim for the highest pleasure possible. What true renunciation is based on is the realization that our ordinary pleasures are second rate. They are inconsequential when compared with the extraordinary bliss to be had from awakening the energies latent within us and fulfilling our deepest potential.

Not only are these ordinary pleasures second rate, but our grasping at them prevents us from experiencing the superior happiness of full self-realization.

Our grasping, squeezing attitude is an intoxicant that dulls our natural clarity. We become more and more deeply enmeshed in the world of ordinary appearances and more and more removed from our essential nature. To develop renunciation means to realize how our ordinary reliance on pleasure is preventing us from tasting this higher, more complete happiness.

With the proper development of renunciation we give ourselves a break from our usual compulsive and constricting reliance on sense pleasures. The more we understand that these pleasures are not capable of giving us the lasting happiness we desire, the more we relax our expectations and become realistic. Instead of being uptight, from either craving after pleasure or rejecting it guiltily, we feel more at ease. Unpleasant circumstances cease to bother us so much. And if we experience something pleasant we accept it comfortably, taking what enjoyment it has to give without demanding or expecting anything more from it. We can be relaxed in this way not only because we understand that these pleasures are transitory, but because our sights are set on an even higher form of happiness: the fulfillment of our essential nature. With this transcendental goal in mind we do not become overly excited by the fleeting pleasures we experience nor do we become depressed when things are going badly. In other words, instead of taking refuge in sensory objects as the solution to our dissatisfaction, we place our reliance on our own inner potential.

GI VI NG UP FALSE REFUGE

The phrase “taking refuge” is borrowed from its traditional context—the often-repeated Buddhist declaration of faith in the teachers, teachings, and spiritual community: “I take refuge in the Buddha, I take refuge in the Dharma, I take refuge in the Sangha”—to make the point that taking refuge in momentary, transitory pleasures is something we are doing all the time with an almost religious fervor and conviction. For example, one day we may think, “Oh, I am so depressed; I think I’ll go to the beach,” so we drive to the ocean, jump into the water, play around like fish and then lie down to fry in the sun. When this becomes boring, we think, “Now I am hungry; where is the refreshment stand?”