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On Suffering

The first of the four noble truths can be paraphrased as “Life is suffering.” This primary idea of dukkha, or suffering, permeates throughout Buddhist literature. Buddhism has laid down the path to end this suffering, but without the understanding that suffering is caused by craving and, hence, the end of suffering is found through the end of craving, no progress can be made. In my own life, this immutable suffering is exemplified in both major and minor forms. The most prevalent manner in which suffering is exhibited in my life is my continual sense of being alone. The minor and much less painful form of suffering is the constant question of what I am going to be doing next year.

My major form of suffering, that of feeling alone, does not originate from a lack of people surrounding me or even an absence of friends. Instead, it is an overwhelming feeling of being isolated emotionally and intellectually from those to whom I wish to form an attachment. As an aside, it is somewhat telling that in the definition of this major form of suffering I feel compelled to use the term “attachment.” However, it is likely the most descriptive word. This feeling of being alone is an inability to relate myself to others without getting the look of utter confusion and, occasionally, outright misunderstanding. It seems as though every time I try to relate an idea or feeling I have, all the filters of society and my own ego get in the way. By the reciprocal nature of relationships, I feel the same thing happens in the reverse, as well. In essence, it is as though I can’t be my true Self because my self gets in the way. This is more than just a theory in the abstract, though. In my own life, there is a spectrum of how close I can be with individuals. I end up trying to hold close any connection I have with others and, at the same time, work at making it a more intimate connection. Any time one of those relationships slips down this theoretical spectrum, I feel that it may never be made up. I go as far as to use these instances to reinforce just how isolated I truly am.

I have always assumed my inability to connect to others was due to a lack in social skills. I was never the funniest guy, nor did I wear the right clothes, and most importantly I never said the right things. But it was not just a lack of being one of the popular guys; I never fit in to any group. I would see the popular group, the academic group, the athletic group, even the band group, and I would feel that I could not connect to any of them. Even recently, being a part of a fraternity where the “brotherhood bonds” are immutable, I still felt as though I did not belong for the sole reason that I could not feel any true connection devoid of hierarchical, class or social-standing filters. I would look inside groups I belonged to and assume every other individual “got it.” It seemed as though they understood each other and I was the outsider of which everyone was weary. This view of my life has persisted from the lunch tables in elementary school through even present day, yet a different understanding has begun to take place.

Through the study of Buddhism and its outline of the way individuals frame reality, it has become apparent that my major form of suffering is due in large part to the perverted views I have of reality. The first of these views gives the individual the false conception that anything can be permanent. By placing my relationships up to that standard, I would often feel abandoned when one took a turn for the worse. If my friends would suddenly stop getting together three or four times a week, whether due to a new girlfriend, excessive school work, or any other valid reason, I would take it as an indication the connection I had with them had faltered. This increased isolation, as it is perceived by me, resulted in an increase in my outer defenses. Perhaps this was just to keep myself from losing the connection again, but the problem occurred that my friends never understood why I suddenly became so distant. In effect, I was creating my own sense of loneliness as a defense against being alone.

Keeping with the same outline of where my suffering originated, the second perverted view, according to Buddhism, is that satisfaction may be found in this world. This is fairly applicable to the situation, as I was constantly searching for the happiness of being a part of something larger than myself. In my mind, even just one friend who understood me would be enough to squelch that feeling of being alone. This view of reality is reinforced, though, through rare glimpses of unadulterated connections with others. Often times occurring with new acquaintances, what appeared to be a pure understanding had manifested between my Self and the Other. However, as the relationship began to form, restrictions on what was socially acceptable broke down that connection. This led me to strive for that connection, as though through working harder I could find it more often.

The third point I would like to utilize is the misguided belief that there is a permanent self. This is a very important concept in Buddhism, as it defines the middle path between nihilism and eternalism for the religion. However, important to the topic at hand, it also makes it clear that there is no “I” for me to even try to relate to others. Likewise, there are no others’ selves through which I can form the relationships I so strongly desire. It might be said on this point that it is my own desires and fears with which I wish to make the connection. But I know this would only be a logical excuse for my suffering. I feel I have an immutable self that, perhaps, the world would be better for knowing existed. At least, I would feel better knowing the world knew my self existed.

The final perverted view is that things are desirable and merit clinging on to. This comes through, especially in the process of taking this course on Buddhism and writing this paper, in that I still desire these illusory, pure connections. During each relationship I have had over my twenty-two years in existence, which are far too numerous to account for, each of them have lessened in some manner. As described above, each time these diminished, they caused me the distress defined as dukkha. Yet, as if I had no memory of these previous relationships, I continually view any step closer to pure understanding with others as only positive. What’s more, I cling to these relationships, occasionally even suffocating any perceived pleasure they gave.

Though less stimulating, the minor form of suffering in my life is fairly simple. It may be defined more specifically as the worrying over whether I will be able to go to graduate school in philosophy. I have classified it as minor not due to its intensity, but simply because it is temporarily restricted. A little over two months ago, when all my applications had been sent in, I started checking my mailbox religiously. It has come to the point, this late in the semester, that I find myself checking it on Sundays, when I am fully aware that no mail could have been delivered since I checked it the day before. The logical reason for this obsession is that I am an addicted to information. I am perfectly confident in any decision I make, but only provided I know the information relevant to that decision. Confusion erupts from continually having to rework my viable options. This occurs in light of not receiving any new information but is ironically much more so elicited when friends offer advice. As an end result, my mind is cluttered much of the time and the weight of my choices never seems to dissipate, especially in this last semester of college.

This suffering is derived from the assumption that, if I just got into a PhD program in Philosophy, then everything in my life would be fine; I would have a career after I was done with school, I would have a stimulating group of individuals to sharpen my cognitive processes against, and I would have the next 3 to 5 years of my life stabilized. This has been my excuse for the suffering I experience, yet it is not too far from how Buddhism would explain it. While I could elicit the same sort of example of perverted views for the minor form of suffering as I did for the major form, I believe it will lend itself to a simpler perspective. The “if only” stance points out the delusions described in Buddhism. Foregoing thoughts of the work-load, the new environment, the additional debt which would arise, I have put the temporary pleasure of having it all figured out above the realistic assessment of the consequences. The major oversight brought to light is the understanding that, once admitted to graduate school, there would hardly be a moment’s pleasure before the next milestone became an obsession. From year-to-year, even down to the day-to-day, I would constantly be striving for the next finished paper, class, or degree. It is a never ending cycle of desires and only by being mindful of this fact can any progress be made.

Though the minor cause for suffering has existed for the same amount of time I have been learning Buddhism, the manner in which I deal with both forms of suffering has changed over the past few months. Before this course, I took a very practical approach to my sense of being alone; I surrounded myself with people. What I lacked in quality of relationships, I made up for in quantity. It was, perhaps, most apparent my freshman year of college. There was not a night that would go by that I would choose sitting in my room reading over going out with my group of friends (who, it is important to note, were my friends out of convenience in living arrangement rather than personal interests). As I matured through college I did become more selective in the quality of friends I maintained, but my continual need for a connection simply resulted in different fallacies. Instead of putting forth my opinions for what they were, I chose to align myself with my friends’ beliefs. My perception was that this prevented any diminished connection. What I failed to recognize was that the connection that existed was not between myself and my friends, but between my friends and their ideal friend created by me. This superficial connection would fool me the majority of the time, but the suffering persisted regardless.

As far as the minor form of suffering, it was more difficult to deal with simply because I had no control over the outcomes. I was, and at this point still am, a passive participant in the process. Given this situation, and the overwhelming control it had taken on my thoughts, the easiest solution was to stop my thoughts. Though I have never been much for alcohol, I found myself enjoying the effects more regularly. I was careful, though, because too much or too little resulted in the same overemphasis of the situation. But maintaining the right “buzz” lifted the weight of the decision and the fear of impending doom. Though it is perhaps more colorful to use alcohol as an example, it was not the only manner by which I preoccupied my mind. By losing myself in books, academics, or work, I could relieve the stress for hours at a time. However, the first moment I had to let my mind wander would bring the whole of the distress back to mind.

Instead of these temporary, misguided, and oftentimes problematic solutions to suffering, Buddhism claims, above all, that awareness is the best way to deal with suffering. By being mindful of the moment, fallacies of ones beliefs can become evident. For the Buddhist religion, the three refuges of the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha can also be called upon this way. The Buddha, having already attained enlightenment, provides an inspiration to what lies ahead. The Dhamma, the written works of Buddhism, provides the practitioner with the method by which to leave samsara. The Sangha, the collected group of nuns and monks who represent the virtues which are ideal to Buddhism, provides guidance and support along the path. These “three jewels” are a focus in Buddhism meditations to end suffering. The four noble truths, the eightfold path, the four sublime states, these are all encompassed by the refuges.

Though I utilized these concepts throughout the seven-day exercise, I feel as though I have gradually been using them increasingly over the course of this semester. It is as though the simple understanding of Buddhist literature brings with it mindfulness. Of course a reframing naturally occurs through any learning process, but this is highly applicable to religious subject matter. A sense of awareness began occurring in my life, especially regarding these two forms of suffering, where impermanence and a false sense of self were brought to light. Meditation exemplified this awareness. I mentioned earlier how the mindfulness that occurs during meditations slips into my day-to-day life more and more. Though the height of this experience is most often associated with the actual meditation, its lingering effects are noticeable. Most importantly, the exercise made it clear that the lingering effects are residual day-to-day. The calm and understanding brought out by one meditation lasted, in some respects, through till the next meditation session. In comparison, instead of the full force of the suffering returning once my mind started to wander again, it remained diminished through consistent meditation.

Loving kindness and compassion were extremely helpful concepts to meditate on for my major form of suffering. The overwhelming sense of being alone became much easier to take when, instead of focusing on the lack of connections coming to me, I was mindful of the compassionate connections flowing out of me. What was important about this Buddhist view is that my self played no role in it. I was able to meditate on simply radiating this compassion out without putting my self as the source of it. The practical effects were subtle but noticeable. Leaving the meditation I had this unmatched sense of connection. However, instead of the reciprocal relationship connection I have been striving for, it was manifested even with individuals I did not know, who may not have even known I was paying any attention to them.

Because the minor form of suffering is temporally based, the meditations practice had a large effect on its occupation of my thoughts. The practice of “no-mind,” clearing my thoughts on the meditation cushion, served this purpose well. Again, though the effects during meditation were exemplary, the usefulness was only really seen once the meditation had ended. By gently allowing my thoughts to pass as they arose, the urge to pay attention to thoughts of graduate admission letters faded away. Even well after my meditations, when the fears and worrying began to arise about graduate school, I would simply note that they had appeared and let them pass through without trying to force the thoughts.

Perhaps the main conclusion reached through this exercise is that, although I have outlined exactly what the misconceptions are that lead to my suffering, I still have that suffering. Through the academic knowledge of Buddhism and, above all, the meditation practice of having an empty mind, I have lessened the preoccupation with loneliness and my future. While this is especially true during the consistent meditations of the exercise, as whole a trend has developed for dealing with the varying forms of suffering. It is obvious to me now that the experience and practice of meditation is the important part. Though I have an affinity for ideas, the theoretical aspect of Buddhism can only provide so much. The length of the meditations, the frequency of them, and the awareness going in to them all played a part in the effects they had on my day-to-day life. Though I can say I plan to continue practicing meditation in the same manner as during this exercise, I know that it will not provide any of the benefits unless I actually follow-through with them. I know that it is only through the practice that these effects can be found, and given the alternative, it is 20 minutes a day put to good use.