Class Four: I Am in All **1) Lord Krishna, in the sixth chapter of the Bhagavad Gita, now begins a section in which he repeatedly speaks of “staying in the self.” How does this expression reflect two very different kinds of self-nature? What would it mean to “stay” in one of them, and how would this affect our sense of attachment?** First of all, it is easier at this point if we think of “self” as referring to a self-nature. That said, it’s helpful to clarify just what a “self-nature” is. We can for example think of medicine as having a nature to itself of being a substance which promotes health and life within a person. Promoting health and life is something that we can say is the very nature, or definition, of a medicine. And almost universally we tend to believe that this nature is inherent within the medicine: that somehow it is contained within the chemicals or “active ingredient” of that medicine. But it’s with this perception of inherent-ness within a thing that we begin to get in trouble. We all know that sometimes we can, for example, take an aspirin for a headache, and see it have no effect upon us at all. That is, the “active ingredient” which is part and parcel with the medicine fails to act. In extreme cases, we can even see people undergo an extreme reaction to a medicine which even threatens their life. We can observe then through our own experience that the quality of promoting health and life is *not* inherent within a medicine. It may either lack this quality altogether, or even exhibit the opposite quality. We can say then that medicine lacks any self-nature, any quality within it, of performing its avowed purpose. We can further say, upon reflection, that no object in the entire world has any inherent self-nature to it at all. Any nature that an object such as medicine seems to be exhibiting is not coming from *inside* of it, or it would exhibit this nature all of the time. We can therefore conclude that this self-nature is coming from somewhere else; from ourselves, for example. But this doesn’t help us understand Lord Krishna’s repeated statements that we are to seek to “stay within the self.” For this, we have to go into the self-nature that things do possess—and at the deepest level there is only one. That is, consider now once again the self-nature that we always thought was inside of things. The only constant here is that *nothing has any such self-nature.* That being *so* constant a truth, we can go further and say that *things and people do have one self-nature, which is the very fact that they do not possess the kind of self-nature that we used to think they did.* And so not really having their apparent self-nature becomes the self-nature that all things really do have. So what next does it mean to “stay” in *this* kind of self-nature? If we can maintain a constant awareness of this self-nature, then we can, as Lord Krishna notes in this very verse, “free ourselves from attachment to all of our desires.” It’s significant here the Lord Krishna doesn’t say we are going to “free ourselves from our desires,” but rather to our “attachment” to these desires. The first implication here is that desires are not necessarily something wrong. That is, as we’ve already seen, it’s a very *good* thing to have a desire to help other people, and to save the world. It’s the *attachment* to our desires that creates the problem. Again, this is not what we normally think of as attachment, but rather an attachment to our wrong way of looking at the things we find desirable. If for example we believe that aspirin is supposed to have some self-nature of helping a headache, a self-nature which is contained within it, then we’re going to run into trouble when the aspirin doesn’t work for us. We will have been attached to it working for us, and then when it doesn’t we’ll be disappointed and upset. If however we realize that the aspirin’s real self-nature is that there is no nature of being a medicine within it—which is to say, if we realize that whatever power the medicine has to help us is coming from seeds within our own mind, planted there when we tended to others in the past—then we won’t have attachment to the medicine, in the sense that we won’t at all be upset when it doesn’t work. Because we are “staying in the self-nature” of the medicine, because we really understand what nature it does possess, then we will simply turn to help someone who is ill, to “charge” the aspirin with the power to help us. **2) Lord Krishna sometimes goes beyond saying that we should “stay” within the self, and speaks about “being at rest” to do so. How does this reflect a famous two-step process in reaching ultimate reality, both in the yoga tradition and in the Buddhist tradition? What are the names of these two steps in Sanskrit; how are they defined; and what are some roots and cognates with regard to them?** Bringing the mind to a state of rest in order to be able to perceive the self, or ultimate reality, is an important concept in the traditional scriptural literature of India. The basic idea is that our mind must be still enough to “reflect” this higher reality—like a quiet lake which reflects upon it the moon. That is, an extremely deep level of meditative focus is required in order to perceive ultimate reality directly. This level of focus is known in the Buddhist tradition as *shamatha,* which can be translated as *stillness.* It is traditionally defined as “That single-mindedness which is imbued with the exceptional bliss of practiced ease due to deep single-pointed meditation on its object.” The “practiced ease” here refers to a lightness of both body and mind which come with regular daily practice. At the level of this focus which is required to see ultimate reality—or what is here called “the self”—we would be able to go so deeply into meditation that we wouldn’t hear even loud noises in the room, or the smell of french fries even if they were waved under our nose. The second step in this process is the actual deep, meditative perception of the self. In Buddhist terms this perception is called *vipashyana,* or *insight,* which is traditionally defined as “That wisdom which is full of the exceptional bliss of practiced ease, by power of the analysis of its object, and which is founded upon stillness.” This basically means that we have used the first step, of perfect concentration, and focused it upon an object, to discover its true nature, as we’ve been describing this nature. Again, there is an element of lightness of body and mind, due to our meditation practice being very regular, and not necessarily very long, each day. The word *shamatha (s*amatha)* derives from the Sanskrit root √*sham (s*am),* meaning *to be quiet.* We see the same root in the common word *shanti,* meaning *peace.* The word *vipashyana (vipas*yana#)* contains two parts. The prefix *vi* means *very much,* and the root √*pash (pas*)* means *to see.* And so together they suggest an uncommon insight into how things really work. This same combination is described in the Yoga Sutra in slightly different terms, in the third chapter. Here, the combination of a deep level of focus with an insight into how things really work, into what a “true” action is, is referred to as “the team,” or *sanyama.* This team is composed of the last three “limbs” of the eight limbs of yoga, or *ashtanga,* laid out by Master Patanjali. These are focus (*dharana*), fixation (*dhyana*), and perfect meditation (*samadhi*). The first two together constitute the mental “peace” which Lord Krishna recommends as a foundation from which to perceive the self, ultimate reality. In the Yoga Sutra, focus is defined as the ability to remain focused upon a single object, whereas fixation is the ability to remain on that object over an extended period of time. And then “perfect meditation” is our insight into how things really work, which is what makes the meditation perfect\! **3) In the sixth chapter of the Gita, Lord Krishna defines yoga in negative terms, much as Master Patanjali does in the opening lines of the Yoga Sutra; describe how both sages do this, the former with a pun. How, in practical terms, do we carry out Lord Krishna’s instructions in a typical day of yoga asana practice before going to work?** Lord Krishna, in the sixth chapter, says that “yoga is to break the union that unites us with pain.” The word “yoga” of course itself means “union,” and so in essence Lord Krishna is describing it as a union where a union is broken. We might take a look at how our physical yoga practice works, on a very practical level, to break our habitual union with pain, in the course of a single day. Pain in the sense of a working day, as anyone who has worked for example in a large company knows, pretty much consists of the ups and downs that we encounter during the eight or ten hours we spend at the office. It’s very typical that everyone enters the office in a slight state of exhaustion boosted by the cup or two of coffee ingested just prior. The first hour or two is usually not so bad; people just figuring out what they’re supposed to do for the day, the bosses straggling in on their own time. Only after the bosses get settled does the craziness start. Assignments that were the highest of priorities the day before are suddenly cancelled in favor of today’s emergencies. Managers and supervisors, yelled at by the vp’s by lunchtime, are prowling the halls looking for someone to take it out on. They land on us, just at the moment that the biggest customer calls to file a complaint about that last big order. It’s important to realize that the problems we’re encountering throughout the day are, in essence, bumps in our inner channels. These bumps in turn ultimately have their source in the way we ourselves have been treating others. On a typical working day, the bumps are starting to rise up in the morning, and peak out during the day when—for example—a disgruntled supervisor gets their hands on us. If we hit them early on, with what the Tibetans call *burlen—*evening out the bumps—then because our outer day in the afternoon takes the actual shape of these bumps, we can change the coming experience of a yelling boss into the coming experience of a sweet boss. This involves a good, thoughtful physical yoga practice in the morning before work. It’s designed to get the prana flowing, particularly in the two side channels: the *ida* and *pingala.* Prana flows out of these channels, where it would have produced the yelling boss, and into the *sushumna* or middle channel, where it produces the sweet boss. The point is that we can consciously change the content of the rest of our day if we do a proper physical yoga practice in the morning, due to its effect on these channels. And then, in a very real sense, yoga has broken our union with pain. **4) Again in the sixth chapter, Lord Krishna advises us to “leave behind forever the city of what your senses tell you,” in the battle against negative types of desire. Explain.** First of all, the unusual Sanskrit word for “city” here—which is *grama (gra#ma)—*is meant to convey the sense of a great multitude. And so Lord Krishna is referring to the thousands of objects that surround our sense organs at any given time in the course of a normal day. Which brings up an important question in our exploration of where things are really coming from, and how we would perform a “true” action with regard to them. We understand by now how our favorite song for example is coming from us. We were especially careful to speak kindly and softly to others during the past few weeks, and as a result we are now able to hear an especially beautiful song flow from the radio. We can accept how this song is coming from seeds within our mind, because a friend sitting right next to us may not enjoy the song at all. But the question comes up: “What about the sounds of the song themselves, the individual notes? Surely they are not coming from me, or else my friend wouldn’t be able to hear a song at all.” That is, we have now raised what we can call the “raw-data” question: who has produced the thousands of swatches of color and snitches of sound that we make into individual tables and songs and conversations around us. Somehow, says Lord Krishna in this verse, our attraction even to them is also coming from our *sankalpa:* our tendency to misunderstand everything around us. When we are examining where our favorite song is coming from, we take the raw data—the sounds that make up the song—as a given. C’s and D’s and C sharps and so on are there, but how we hear their arrangement, whether we consider it something beautiful or terrible, is clearly dependent upon a seed ripening within our own mind. But suppose then that we decide to turn the focus of our microscope one more notch down: we want to see if an individual C or D is also coming from us. In this case, the new “raw data” is the first part of the C note, its middle, and its end, all glued together to make a C note. And the gluing together itself is again done by the opening up of a seed within our own mind. If we happen to enjoy songs written in C, then the three pieces of the single note C are glued together by some small kindness which we performed in the past towards someone else. This all happens in a single millisecond, in the time it takes for the song to come to and leave from a single note in its progression. And so yes every detail of every object around us—every scratch on the wall, every quarter inch of an entire blue sky—is also coming from us. Our senses tend to tell us different: they say that this entire city or multitude of bits of data must be somehow steady and fixed, lying at the foundation of the songs and people we encounter during the day. What Lord Krishna is saying is that we have to “restrain the mind” from believing what our senses are telling us. And again this is just one more strategy in a larger war against our negative emotions—those such as the wrong kinds of desire mentioned in the verse. We want for example a perfect partner: one who is attractive in every sense of the word, physically and emotionally. We tend to underestimate the power of the principles of mental seeds in achieving a partner like this: we think that, perhaps, with major persuasion, we might be able to change how our partner behaves in a limited way—but that there’s no way we could change their physical appearance, for example. This is basically saying that how we interpret the raw data is something we can affect with mental seeds, but not the raw data itself. Which is to say, we don’t have to limit how we want or desire to see changes in the people and things around us. *Everything* is coming from the seeds. That includes every color, every sound, every touch among the city of sense objects around us. **5) Lord Krishna advises us to “come slowly, in stages, to rest,” so that we can “bring the mind to stay with the self,” and “stop all of our thinking.” What lesson about our daily spiritual practice do we learn from the first part of this statement? What are the Sanskrit, and cognates, for the expression “stop all thinking”? What does this advice not mean?** The first of part of these advices is reflected in the Tibetan idea of *lam-rim,* or *marga krama (ma#rgakrama)* in Sanskrit. This expression means *step* or *level* (*rimpa, krama)* of the *path (lam, marga).* And this in itself conveys two different ideas. The first is that there is a certain order of steps to spiritual work—one which can be compared for example to the required components of a car engine. Nearly all of the components of a car engine are *necessary* components: the car might start and might travel for some distance without any one of them, but not for very long, and not for very far. And there is a fixed *progression* in which the components operate in order to pull the car along. The fuel pump must provide gasoline to the cylinders, and then the spark plugs must fire at the right time, and only then does the transmission transmit the energy which is produced to the wheels, which finally turn and propel the car. It doesn’t do any good if the spark plugs fire without gasoline to ignite, and there’s no use focusing on the wheels if the transmission is not engaged. In the spiritual realm, we have access to literally hundreds of different practices that teachers give us, or friends, or that we might read in different books. These can be overwhelming, and also there is a great danger that if we undertake them in the wrong order it might not work to get us where we want to go, although each separate practice by itself is a good one. There may also be practices which are completely essential before we go on to the next; while others may be optional or applicable only in conjunction with the essential steps. The first point of the idea of *lam-rim* then is that getting our spiritual life going may be just as precise an undertaking as a modern car engine. Unless we undertake certain practices in a certain order, it may be that it’s simply impossible to get where we want to go. And Lord Krishna also says that we are to go through these steps “slowly.” We can intellectually understand certain spiritual practices—and yoga asanas too, for that matter—and yet not have experienced them inside of ourselves. Another crucial point of the *lam-rim* tradition is that we pause after receiving the instructions for each spiritual practice, and take the time to internalize it, through a regular daily practice. At the end of this verse, Lord Krishna advises us to “stop all of our thinking.” This expression can be very easily misunderstood, and it’s worth taking a careful look at it. The Sanskrit here is *na kinchit chintayet (na kim*cit cintayet).* The *na* is a simple negative ultimately related to the English *no.* The word *kim* means *what* or *anything,* where the initial *k-* is the source of all the question-words in English which begin with *qu-.* And the root for *cintayet* is √*cit (cit),* which means *to know,* or *to perceive,* or *to consider.* It is ultimately related to the word *count,* in the sense of considering or thinking of something in a certain way (compare the Russian *chitayet,* meaning *to count* or *consider)*. This advice does *not* at all mean that we should stop thinking about anything, because this wouldn’t do anybody any good at all. We *should* be thinking about how we can help other people, we *should* be thinking—as Arjuna is—about what a true action is. What Lord Krishna means when he advises us to “stop thinking” is, first of all, the same thing that Master Patanjali means in the opening lines of the Yoga Sutra, when he tells us that “yoga is stopping how the mind turns.” What both holy beings mean when they say this is that we need to stop thinking about actions for example in the way that we always have before. The way to handle a partner who often seems angry, for example, is not to agonize over talking to them or not talking to them about it. We have to “stop thinking” this way. Rather, we need to address the seed which is making us see them this way. And this is best done by examining ourselves for our own tendencies towards angry behavior, and being very aware about not repeating them. Lord Krishna is, finally, also referring to the suspension of our awareness of everyday reality around us during the direct perception of the self, or higher reality. **6) Again in the sixth chapter, Lord Krishna says that “the self stands present in every being, and every being in the self.” To this he adds that “a person who sees me in everyone and sees everyone inside of me will never lose me, nor I them.” How do these two statements connect to each other?** It’s important to remember here that Lord Krishna is talking about the “self” as the real nature of things; and that this “real nature” is simply the fact that whatever nature or quality that a thing or person seems to have is in actuality coming from us. The “self” in this sense then is the foundation of everything around us; it is in fact even referred to in scripture as the “foundation of all”—or *kun-shi* {KUN GZHI,} in Tibetan, which is *alaya (a#laya)* in Sanskrit. That is, it is only the space or absence of a fixed nature within themselves that allows things and people to be available for the nature which we “lay” upon them, as seeds ripen in our mind from how we have treated others in the past. Every object and person has this quality of being available as part and parcel of them, and so we stand on a foundation of availability and also each possess that availability individually within us. How does this help us to see Lord Krishna within everyone? Once we realize that whatever nature a person seems to have is coming from us, we necessarily recognize that the kind of person we see them as is coming from us as well. If we see them as a normal person with normal foibles, this is a reflection of our own habit of looking for the normal in others. If rather we try to see our world as special, and encourage others to see their world in this way, we plant the seeds in our mind to see everyone as Lord Krishna. It’s not that they “really” are, or that they “really” aren’t; we make them Lord Krishna by planting the proper seeds. *Coffeeshop assignment:* Please meet with one other member of the class (preferably someone you didn’t know before the course started) to talk a bit about this class, before the next one—and to collaborate on filling out your homework. *Meditation assignment:* 15 minutes per day, thinking of whom you see as being Lord Krishna, and how you could increase the number of people you see this way. *Meditation times and dates* (homework without this section completed will not be accepted):