9/28/14

This weekend I had the opportunity to attend my third retreat at Wat Atam, and the second led by Sakula, the spiritual director of Portland Friends of the Dhamma. The theme of the retreat was based around the threefold practice of virtue, concentration, and discernment, and how they're all integral to a successful practice.

The first night, when everyone attending was encouraged to observe the eight precepts while at the retreat, she talked about importance of virtue, which on the negative end consists of things we should refrain from doing, i.e., not harming living beings, not stealing, not committing sexual misconduct, not lying or using harsh speech, and not indulging in intoxicating drinks and drugs that lead to carelessness. But on the positive side, they encourage us to be kind and compassionate towards living beings, to be generous, to have safe and healthy relationships, to be honest and thoughtful in our speech, and to live in a clear and mindful way.

Besides helping to protect ourselves and others from the results of our unskillful actions, virtue is important because it acts as the foundation for our practice. For one, it helps to provide the meditator with a mind that's free from remorse and regret; and a mind that's free from remorse and regret is better able to develop deep states of concentration, which are difficult to develop when the mind is constantly worried or agitated (AN 11.2). And one thing Sakula had us do was to think of something skillful we did and delight in how good it made us feel.

(Believe me, a mind that's happier and lighter is a lot easier to observe and train. I know from experience. It's hard to meditate when you've done a lot of things you regret; they're the first things that pop up when the mind starts to get quiet.)

For most of the second day, the focus shifted to concentration. Often, living according to our desires, we develop habits that aren't necessarily good for us. We instinctively grasp for what's pleasant and push away what's not, rarely being fully aware of our intentions or even what we're doing. The problem is, in doing so, we suffer when that changes and we're separated with what's pleasant or come face-to-face with what isn't (SN 56.11). We may also do something because it gives us short-term pleasure, only to end up suffering a great deal later on because of it. And this happens because our minds are untrained in restraint, mindfulness, and wisdom. To strengthen these tools, we need to first develop our virtue and then develop our powers of concentration.

Just like a body that isn't used to exercise finds relatively intense physical activity difficult, if not impossible, a mind that isn't 'exercised' has difficulty turning inwards and being aware of the subtle mental activities and habits that give rise to suffering. We tend to take it for granted that what we're doing or thinking is the 'right' thing, but oftentimes what we're really doing is feeding our suffering. As Sakula mentioned, unpleasant thoughts and feelings will arise, but they'll also soon cease, unless of course we feed and sustain them, not being mindful of how feeding them can actually cause more problems than the initial thoughts and feelings themselves. We simply can't let them go.

We spent most of the day alternating between walking and sitting meditation, trying to focus on the breath or the soles of our feet while also trying to be aware of how our minds were reacting to thoughts and feelings and sensations, and when possible, letting them arise without pouncing on them and turning our attention away from our object. I had a lot of trouble with that, though, and found myself easily distracted.

At the end of the second day, as well as the last, she touched on wisdom. Wisdom is what can ultimately cut the roots of greed, hatred, and delusion. It's the aspect of our mental faculty that's capable of judging which of our intentions are skillful and unskillful, and more importantly, of abandoning what's unskillful. It dives through our desires and the narratives that we create, allowing us to see the deep and subtle way the mind works and giving us the ability to really go against the flow of our craving. With wisdom, we can enjoy the pleasant without indulging in it and getting carried away by it; and we can endure the unpleasant without having to become overwhelmed by it.

One of the similes she gave that I really liked was of a person walking on some train tracks who's completely distracted by all the sights and sounds around them, unmindful of the train coming up behind them. The person is our mind, the sights and sounds are all the pleasant things we instinctively grasp, and the train represents both the unpleasant things in life and the changing nature of phenomena that tends to barrel us over. Concentration is what helps us turn around and see the train coming; wisdom is our ability to step off the track and watch it pass by rather than let it barrel us over unawares or to try and stop it in its tracks, which is impossible.

The last day was a special treat for me since it was not only Thai Vegan Day, with Wat Atam's community of lay-followers providing a feast of vegetarian Thai food for everyone to share, but one of my old teachers, Ajahn Prasert from Wat Buddhanusorn, was visiting to help raise a fund for sick and injured monks in the US.

Admittedly, I had a hard time meditating or really cultivating any wisdom this weekend. I did gain a deeper appreciation of virtue, however, especially that of others, and felt a lot of gratitude the whole time for all the kindness and generosity that made this retreat even possible for me, from Ajahn Ritthi for hosting it and Sakula for leading it, to Greg and Alistair for lagging behind and braving the I-5 rush-hour traffic so I could carpool with them and Phil and Marie at work who gave me an extra hand so I could get out of work on time and actually catch my ride.

There was a lot more to the retreat, but those are a few of the things that stuck with me the most. It was disheartening to realize how much I've slacked on my meditation practice and how I was lucky if I could be truly mindful of three breaths the entire weekend, but it was equally as heartening being surrounded by such encouraging and supportive people.

9/21/14

I made it a point to go to mass at St. Philip Neri today after Fr. Michael mentioned that what I wrote about my monastic experience at Our Lady of Guadalupe gave him some ideas for his homily. We met for the first time Wednesday at the B- group meeting, and I'd sent him an email afterwards telling him a little bit about myself and included a copy of what I wrote at Our Lady. That, plus something his friend Mitch wrote about his own monastic experience, apparently gave Fr. Michael some inspiration.

His homily began with a reflection on a line from Leonard Cohen's "Anthem" — "There is a crack in everything / That's how the light gets in" — and the parable of the workers in the vineyard in Matthew, which was the day's Gospel reading. In the parable, Jesus compares the kingdom of heaven to a landowner who hires a bunch of workers throughout the day to work in his vineyard and pays each a full day's wage regardless of how long they've worked in the vineyard.

Our first reaction may be, as was that of the first labourers hired, that it's unfair to pay those who have only worked a few hours the same promised amount as those who have worked all day—the first should be rewarded more, right? But Fr. Michael said that this parable is a crack where the light of God shines through, challenging the ways of the world and teaching us to think bigger. "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." (Isa 55:8-9).

So what's this story teaching us? Fr. Michael offered one answer: that this parable illustrates both the idealistic and pragmatic side of Jesus' teachings. Jesus said that the kingdom of God is at hand, meaning that the kingdom of God isn't just a nice idea to dream about, it's a living reality if we live it. And this parable is an example of that. This person goes out and hires everyone he sees without work and pays them a full day's wage regardless of how long they've laboured. Rather than being an illustration of unfair reward, which is how we may first perceive it, what it's actually illustrating is unconditional compassion and generosity.

One reason we don't tend to see it from this point of view, suggested Fr. Michael, is that we rarely witness or experience such unconditional generosity and compassion in our day-to-day lives; so when we do come face-to-face with it, we don't recognize it for what it is. In our enviousness and subjective sense of justice, we may think the first workers are being unfairly compensated rather than seeing the compassion and generosity underlying the landowner's actions towards the last. Where we see injustice, there's actually the fullness of justice, of equal treatment, of Jesus' admonition to love one another. Everyone gets a full day's wage without exception, i.e., everyone is equal.

Here, in this parable, our worldly thoughts and ways are challenged, and we're invited to raise our thoughts higher, to become more compassionate, more generous, and more loving. Not for any kind of selfish reason, but unconditionally. We're invited, right here in the here and now, to live in the kingdom of heaven. We're called to see everyone as an equal, to not let envy poison our hearts, to share in one another's stories and be inspired by them, and most importantly, to do all things with love.

Fr. Michael went on to say how my story, and that of his friend Mitch, were like cracks or thunderbolts, letting in the light of our experiences into his life and giving him a sense of enthusiasm that he hasn't felt in a while. He said that we all need to be shaken up once in a while because we have a tendency to become complacent and miss out on all the 'cracks' around us. And it really made me happy that he got something out of my experience and my reflections about it, just as I was getting something out of his.

After mass, I joined Fr. Michael and Matthew, whom Fr. Michael had introduced me to earlier as 'a fellow seeker,' for the french toast breakfast that happens every third Sunday. It was nice getting to know Matthew, and we talked a bit about Buddhism, the contemplative side of Catholicism, and various things of that sort. It was also nice talking to Fr. Michael some more. I especially enjoy his peculiar sense of humour.

The more time I spend at St. Philip Neri, the more I think I like it. All the people I've met so far have been quite welcoming and friendly. Many of the parishioners are interested in the more contemplative aspects of the Catholic tradition. And as far as Catholic parishes go, it's fairly liberal/progressive, with a strong social justice leaning. In their weekly bulletin, for example, there's a flier for a Jobs with Justice Faith Labor Committee discussion this Tuesday about wage theft. It seems like my kind of place.

9/20/14

Yesterday a friend and I went to sit with the Friday PFoD group, which was notable for two reasons. The first was that Kyogen Carlson, the abbot of the building's previous community, Dharma Rain, suffered a massive heart attack and passed away unexpectedly the day before. The second was that, being the third Friday of the month, the Pacific Hermitage monks were in Portland to lead the meditation and Dhamma discussion. Due to the news of Kyogen's passing, the monks did some traditional Pali paritta chants before the meditation session, and the talk afterwards focused on death and dying.

Neither death nor dying are something that most people want to think about, but in the Buddhist tradition, these reflections are an important part of the practice. One reason is that they help give one a sense of urgency. Knowing that our time here on Earth is finite and relatively short, with death itself often being unexpected, we're motivated to use the time we do have wisely and develop the tools we'll need to confront death with a stable footing when our time comes. Another reason is that such reflections help remind us of the inconstancy of conditioned things, like our minds and bodies, and how little control we truly have over them:

Aniccà vata sankhàrà.
Uppàda-vaya-dhammino.
Uppajjitvà nirujhanti.
Tesaü våpasamo sukho.

Impermanent are all conditioned things.
Of a nature to arise and pass away.
Having arisen, they pass away.
Their calming and cessation is true bliss.

There's a lot of good we can accomplish in our lifetime. There's a lot of joy and happiness to be had as well. But by living heedlessly and ignoring the nature of reality, we run the risk of confronting death unprepared, whether that of a loved one or our own. Because we are born, death is inevitable, but we rarely seem to plan for it. All of the things we accumulate throughout life, wealth, possessions, status, relationships, etc., can't go with us; and yet our lives are almost solely focused on acquiring rather than letting go, so when it comes time to part with that which we hold dear, we sorrow, grieve, lament, beat our breast, and become distraught.

We all must face death numerous times in our life, and countless times if you believe the teachings on rebirth. For that reason alone it's worthy of our attention. From the Buddhist point of view, it's only with the cessation of birth that there's the cessation of death; and being mindful of death leads one to heedfulness—to developing mindfulness for the sake of ending the effluents of the mind. When mindfulness of death is developed and pursued in the proper way, it gains a footing in the deathless, and has the deathless as its final end. And even when our minds and bodies fall apart, there will be peace in the heart.

9/18/14

Last night I sat in on the B- group again. The meeting went much the same as the last one did, with the exception that Fr. Michael was there this time. To my surprise, everyone at the meeting I went to last month remembered me and apparently told Fr. Michael good things about me. I'm not sure there was a coherent theme, but the discussion touched upon a number of things relevant to me at the moment.

Fr. Michael began with a story about a friend of his named Mitch who spent two weeks at a monastery and the good it did him, which reminded me of my five-day stay at Our Lady. There was a little discussion about prayer and the contemplative aspect of spirituality—how work is neither mutually exclusive of prayer nor mutually inclusive, and how both are important to living a spiritually-balanced life. Then Fr. Michael brought up something Pope Francis said about the current global situation amounting to a piecemeal WWIII, and how our response to things is often also individualistic and piecemeal and not big enough.

In relation to this last part, Fr. Michael offered an example of 'thinking big' by asking us to imagine the archdiocese of Portland doing something like announcing the goal of making all their parishes' energy self-sufficient (or as close to it as possible) by 2030 as a response to global climate change, much like the city of Eugene is doing. The point I took away from this was that we should try to think bigger, to think outside of and beyond ourselves and the 'shadow of Cain' as Pope Francis calls it. Instead of asking "What does it matter to me?" or "Am I my brother's keeper?," we should recall what Jesus asks of us in the Gospel:

We have heard: he is in the least of his brothers; he, the King, the Judge of the world, he is the one who hungers, who thirsts, he is the stranger, the one who is sick, the prisoner… The one who cares for his brother or sister enters into the joy of the Lord; the one who does not do so, however, who by his omissions says, "What does it matter to me?", remains excluded.

Fr. Michael also shared the Gospel reading for the upcoming Sunday mass for reflection, which happens to be the parable of the workers in the vineyard. I thought this parable was interesting. On the one hand, it's clearly talking about something spiritual, about the kingdom of heaven, suggesting that all who accept this spiritual invitation will be equally rewarded regardless of when in life they do so, and warning against letting jealousy poison one's heart. But it also has fairly obvious socio-economic implications about how workers should be treated, justifying everything from a living wage to a universal basic income. At least it does to me, anyway.

Yesterday also happened to be the day before Fr. Michael's birthday, so one of the ladies made him a cake and we all sang "Happy Birthday" and had a piece of cake to celebrate it. It was nice to be able to share in that.

As much as I enjoyed my time at Holy Trinity last Sunday, this experience has reaffirmed my initial decision to learn more about the Catholic Church and attend the inquiry class at St. Philip Neri. For one, I feel that this particular community is more open and accepting than many others, and I feel drawn towards it. It feels as if I'm on the right track, where I need to be at the moment. Only time will tell if I'm right.

9/12/14

I'm confused and torn. I'm drawn towards so many different spiritual traditions and monastic orders at the moment, particularly Christian and Buddhist. I like certain aspects of each I explore, and dislike just as many. I dislike the sectarian triumphalism, however subtle, I find in each as well. I suppose one may be more right than another, and each tends to think their tradition is the bee's knees of truth, but I see in each a genuine core of honest suffering and purity that comes from the same place and points in the same direction. Each may use different words to convey these things, and they may have different philosophical and theological assumptions underlying them, but they're essentially trying to express, and own, something that's universal and open to all.

In Christianity, for example, love and forgiveness are key tenets. It's said that "God is love" (John 4:16), and the whole of the law is fulfilled in keeping one commandment: "Love your neighbor as yourself" (Gal 5:14). And yet, even within the multitude of Christian traditions, one church will refuse to be in communion with another for any number of seemingly trivial reasons, which to them are quite serious; but in relation to the core doctrines of Christianity — love, charity, and forgiveness — they seem rather meaningless. Is God one or three? Is Jesus lesser than God or are they equal? Does one have to be fully immersed during baptism or is affusion and aspersion OK? These kinds of things separate churches, and yet, can we ever fully understand God, to say with certainty that God is one thing or another? Would an all-loving God of forgiveness reject someone because of the way water was applied during their baptism? Buddhism has similar issues, of course, although not as pronounced.

Despite this, I have trouble living a spiritual life outside of religious institutions and communities. For me, worldly life is filled with so many comforts and distractions, and I'm surrounded by so many people who don't feel the same spiritual calling as I do, that I easily fall away from my spiritual practices. I'm easily swept up in and buffeted by the worldly winds of gain, loss, status, disgrace, censure, praise, pleasure, and pain. I'm seduced by pleasure and gain, and I become morally weak trying to live in a society that tends to idealize and promote greed and self-interest over altruism and the common good, and competition over cooperation. The world feeds my unskillful/sinful behaviour, and I need external sources of support to help motivate me and keep me on the right path. It's not that I'm a bad person on my own; but I need help to be an even better one, and that's why I constantly seek out spiritual people and places. I'm good at being lazy and selfish, mostly because it doesn't take a lot of work.

Sometimes I feel as if I'm trapped in a cage, trapped in my home and by all the distracting things in it, by my job, and by the expectations placed upon me. Like a bird who's lived its whole life in a cage and is afraid to venture beyond the open door, I feel the urge to fly but can't bring myself to make the leap. I'm conditioned to stay where I am even though my instinct is to sore amongst the white clouds. But the oppressiveness doesn't ultimately lie in my home, my job, or the expectations of others; it's in myself. It's a cage of my own making. I could be meditating, but there's always a new episode of something on Hulu I'd rather be watching. I could be nicer to people at work, but in my pride, it's so much easier to be critical, angry, and impatient. I could go to my Friday night meditation and discussion group, but everyone's meeting for drinks and I don't want to miss out.

Lately, because of this, I've been trying to spend more time at churches and read more spiritually-oriented books, and it's helped some. I've also been thinking about joining a church too, although I'm on the fence about which, if any, I should join. I'm Western, and I'm drawn towards the Trappists, so Catholicism? But I really like Orthodox churches, and they have their own contemplative traditions as well. The former's liberation theology speaks to me as a political creature, but the latter has a deep mystical tradition that speaks to me as a spiritual being. And yet, each has social/theological positions on things like same-sex marriage and sexual relationships and opposition to women clergy that I just can't accept, which brings me back to questioning why the hell I'm even thinking about joining a church in the first place, at least one outside of certain Anglican and Lutheran or Unitarian churches that are far more progressive in this area.

One thing that draws me towards Catholicism and Orthodoxy, probably the main thing really, is their comparable contemplative, mystical traditions, as well as their long-standing monastic traditions. I'm extremely drawn towards monasticism, and they're the main game in town when it comes to Christian monasticism. Plus there's something about their services, especially mass/divine liturgy, that I find beautiful and uplifting and want to be a part of. I guess I appreciate the ritual aspect of it, and I really enjoy the mysticism of it all. Because of my time at Our Lady of Guadalupe, I was pretty sure about wanting to attend an inquiry/RCIA class at somewhere like St. Philip Neri; but after a recent conversation I had with an Orthodox friend of mine, I'm now leaning towards checking out the inquiry class at a nearby Greek Orthodox church if it's not too late (I'd go to both, but it seems as if every church schedules them at 7pm on Wednesday to prevent that kind of competition.)

Part of me thinks I should just focus on my Buddhist practice, which would solve a lot of these dilemmas; but I'm drawn to both traditions because they each help complement my spiritual life. I want to be a student of every religion and learn what they have to offer. I wish I had someone to go to for advice, but I'm not sure who. Most probably wouldn't understand my point of view, my universalist desire to be a part of all these different spiritual communities and try to absorb all I can from them. My non-religious friends probably think I'm crazy, and my religious ones have their own biases and tend to pull me in one direction or another, making it hard for me to know what the best thing for me is. And it doesn't help that I'm the most indecisive person in the world.

8/26/14

Finally had time to finish The Seven Storey Mountain. On the whole, I enjoyed the book. I see a lot of similarities between myself and the early Merton: the struggles with lust and pride and anger; the inner conflict between living a worldly life and the call to a contemplative one; the confusion and indecision; the convergence of seemingly random coincidences and happenstances leading one in an unforeseen direction, and the suffering of rebelling against one's very nature; etc. It was easy for me to see my own spiritual journey in his, as I think is the case for many who read it. And as I was finishing the book, one paragraph in particular, on 'active' vs. 'contemplative' orders, stood out to me:

This means, in practice, that there is only one vocation. Whether you teach or live in the cloister or nurse the sick, whether you are in religion or out of it, married or single, no matter who you are or what you are, you are called to the summit of perfection: you are called to a deep interior life perhaps even to mystical prayer, and to pass the fruits of your contemplation on to others. And if you cannot do so by words, then by example.

I think in some shape or form, we all feel this call, and much of our existential suffering is caused by either fighting against it or else being unable to answer it. One of the reasons I think monastic life appeals to me, for example, is that I have trouble answering that call living in the world. Some people have worldly vocations that, for them, satisfies this, not only enriching their own life but the lives of the people around them. But some, like myself, never seem to find that place in the world, being pulled between renouncing the call to contemplation in order to satisfy our material and social responsibilities and renouncing worldly life in order to head the call to this interior life.

Ideally, I want to find a balance between the two. But at the same time, I find so much in the world alluring and distracting that I rarely seem able to pull myself away and dwell in a spirit of contemplative solitude. I suppose it's a form of moral weakness on my part, which is why the external trappings of monasticism appeal to me—they impose upon one externally the discipline one may not be able to impose upon themselves internally. For me, monastic habits/robes are like a symbolic shield against worldly vices and distractions, reminding one of their contemplative vocation and acting a kind of psychological talisman against the temptations we're all but powerless against.

In some ways, I think that I idealize monastic life; and in reading Thomas Merton's spiritual autobiography, I'm again reminded that even though the monastic life provides a certain kind of spiritual freedom and protection on the external level, we take all of our flaws and weaknesses with us behind those 'four walls of freedom' as well as our strengths. Eventually they'll catch up to us, and that's where the real challenge lies. In that external solitude, which in turn helps to cultivate internal solitude, we're confronted with ourselves, good, bad, and everything in between. Monastic life is an aid to an ongoing internal transformation and life of contemplation, not an end in and of itself.

One of the things this book has done for me is to inspire me to learn more about Christian monasticism, and the Trappists in particular. It's not something I ever explored even though I've always been fascinated by films and books focusing on monastic life or the various orders of monks and nuns. Much like Merton, who'd come into repeated contact with these things for years before actually investigating them, I simply appreciated them from afar, in a more or less abstract way. But now, I want to learn more. I want to see and read and experience what they have to offer. I want to make a similar journey and follow the call 'to the summit of perfection' and a deep interior life of contemplation.

8/25/14 (renunciation)

Both Jesus and the Buddha encouraged their followers to renounce the world. This doesn't mean, of course, that one must literally run away from the world and go hide in a cave. It's primarily a kind of attitude, a shift in the focus of one's life. To renounce the world is to play by a different set of rules, to go against the current of selfishness and craving, and live a life that others may not understand.

To live in the world is to be fully immersed in sensuality, to live for the sake of experiences and pleasure and according to the whims of worldly opinions. To live in the world is to be moved by the eight worldly winds of gain and loss, status and disgrace, censure and praise, pleasure and pain, to be swept away by the passions of the world. To live in the world is to seek happiness and satisfaction in the conditioned, that which is impermanent, subject to change and dissolution.

The Buddha said that life is uncertain, that death may come at any moment, so we should practice heedfulness, "the path to the Deathless," and freedom from the yokes of sensuality, becoming, views, and ignorance. In the Bible, too, one can find this kind of exhortation to live a life against the current of worldly passions and concerns for the sake of a greater happiness, to live heedfully and with wisdom:

What is the source of quarrels and conflicts among you? Is not the source your pleasures that wage war in your members? You lust and do not have; so you commit murder. You are envious and cannot obtain; so you fight and quarrel. You do not have because you do not ask. You ask and do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, so that you may spend it on your pleasures. You adulteresses, do you not know that friendship with the world is hostility toward God? Therefore whoever wishes to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God. Or do you think that the Scripture speaks to no purpose: "He jealously desires the Spirit which He has made to dwell in us"? But He gives a greater grace. Therefore it says, "God is opposed to the proud, but gives grace to the humble." Submit therefore to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you. Draw near to God and He will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners; and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Be miserable and mourn and weep; let your laughter be turned into mourning and your joy to gloom. Humble yourselves in the presence of the Lord, and He will exalt you.

Do not speak against one another, brethren. He who speaks against a brother or judges his brother, speaks against the law and judges the law; but if you judge the law, you are not a doer of the law but a judge of it. There is only one Lawgiver and Judge, the One who is able to save and to destroy; but who are you who judge your neighbor?

Come now, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, and spend a year there and engage in business and make a profit." Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away. Instead, you ought to say, "If the Lord wills, we will live and also do this or that." But as it is, you boast in your arrogance; all such boasting is evil. Therefore, to one who knows the right thing to do and does not do it, to him it is sin. (James 4)

It's the craving for sensual desires that give rise to greed, hatred, and delusion, leading to quarrels and conflict. To live by the whims of these passions, one 'makes a friend of the world' and turns away from the noble life, from truth and peace and the deathless. Our actions and intentions must be cleansed, purified. We must give up some of the short-term happiness and pleasure we experience from following our passions because they lead to long-term harm and suffering; and we must do what might initially be difficult for us to do because it'll ultimately lead to our long-term welfare and happiness. We must be honest and practice right speech. And above all, we must not be heedless.

Although many have escaped into the forests, mountains, caves, and other remote places of the earth to help them renounce the world, which can be helpful, 'the world' itself goes with them. One can't escape the world simply by fleeing from civilization. Renunciation, then, is ultimately an internal turning away from our craving and desire once we begin to discern the drawback of sensual pleasures and the limitations of feeding our hunger for pleasant feelings and experiences.

Unfortunately, renunciation is often perceived as a negative word, especially in the West—a word that implies depriving oneself of something essential to living a full and happy life. But in the Buddha's dispensation, as well as in the teachings of Christianity, renunciation actually means the opposite of this—it's a word implying the relinquishment of something unessential to living a full and happy life.

One of the main reasons I find monasticism so appealing, I think, is that it's a way of life specially designed to help foster this kind of internal renunciation on the external level. Monastic life is like a spiritual training ground for those who either have trouble cultivating this spirit of renunciation while living a worldly life (like me) or who simply desire to devote themselves fully to a life of renunciation.