Why not enlightenment?

When i think about the practice, and my practice in particular, the question of enlightenment comes to mind. One fruit of practice is enlightenment, yet i am in no hurry to get there. If i was, the path of renunciation would make much more sense than the life of a householder. One explanation that comes to mind is that i wish to avoid navel-gazing. When one practices for enlightenment the question of whether enlightenment, or perfection, is possible. This is an issues i don't want to spend much time pondering. I leave open that i don't know the answer, that at this stage of practice i might not even recognize perfection if i was looking at it, so who am i to address the issue whether or not perfect enlightenment is possible? Instead, i wish to get to know the world around me, the world of Samsara.

The first noble truth, the truth of dukkha, (the stress, pain or suffering of existance), is to be comprehended. I have heard it said that this means dukkha must be experienced. We don't need to go out in search of dukkha, we don't need to create more suffering to experience it, we just need to be open to what is there. I find the life of a householder makes it possible for me to practice in this way. So i stay engaged in the world, with my family, friends, work, home, possessions, and pets. And i form attachments, the way i got attached to Verna, a dog i recently lost. And i enjoy my attachments. I enjoyed my time with Verna, taking her to classes, teaching her tricks, spoiling her with treats, watching her play with Zeke, snuggling on the sofa, playing Superdog (tossing her onto the bed), and spending time with her.

If i hadn't adopted Verna, i wouldn't have worried about losing her. If i didn't enjoy my time with her, i wouldn't have gotten attached, and wouldn't have experienced sorrow when i lost her. But would that have made me more enlightened? That question makes me think of a talk i listened to by Ajahn Chah, where he was talking about some of the wrong views he held. He said that, early in his practice he thought he needed complete silence to attain enlightenment, so he would put cotton in his ears so he would hear anything. But if it was true that to cut off the sense of sound would lead to enlightenment, then deaf people were enlightened by nature of their being deaf, so it wasn't by cutting of the sense of sound that one becomes enlightened.

Renunciation is tricky. In a Q&A section with Ajahn Chah he says that the path of ordainment is the fastest path to enlightenment because it enables one to devote all of their energy to the practice. He says it is possible for a householder to attain enlightenment, though it is harder and takes longer because their energy is scattered, and beyond that he doesn't say much else. Sometimes we try to renounce, to let go, in order to avoid experiencing dukkha. We think, like Ajahn Chah did with sound, that enlightenment means not to experience dukkha, and so by renouncement we stop experiencing dukkha and become enlightened. But Thich Nhat Hahn says this is not so (in a talk given on 11-26-2006, but the link i used is now broken). He compares this kind of practice to a rabbit hiding in its hole to feel safe, and says if one who is ordained practices in this way the happiness found won't last long. It will last maybe three or four years, then one will become tired of it and want something else, they may be temped to leave the Sangha and the practice entirely. Instead we need to practice more deeply, in a way that we can experience, and transform, the dukkha in our lives.

In my life as a householder my energy is scattered. I need to think about things like where am i going to live, what will i wear, and what will i eat. I spend time looking at houses and apartments and shopping for food and clothes, and in the process i am exposed to sights and sounds that create desire for more possessions. As i acquire things i get bills, and need to find a way to pay for the things i want, so i need to find a job and spend time at work. Throughout all of this i am surrounded by people, some of whom are agreeable, some of whom are not. Sometimes i have to do things, (like cook), when i would rather do something else (like take a nap). These experiences stir up feelings with have the potential to push me around. Somebody says something unkind and i am tempted to brood over it, getting angrier the more i think about it. Having to spend my time working and shopping and cooking and cleaning, and then choosing to spend time with my husband or dogs or just playing or relaxing seems to cut into time for practice. And living with someone leads to compromises. On my own i choose not to watch TV. On his own my husband can (and does) spend hours watching Netflix. When we're together, do i insist he be like me, and give up the Netflix? Do i let him watch all he wants, and spend my time doing other things, apart from him? Do i watch shows with him, so we have some time together? (I do a bit of all three, suggesting we not turn on the TV until later in the day, leaving him be if he wants to watch more than i do, and watching a movie or 2 with him after dinner.) When it comes to formal practice, the time i spend seems short. Most days i spend just 15 minutes sitting, some days i spend only 5 minutes, and some days i don't sit at all. I listen to Dharma talks, sometimes one or two a day, but i don't listen to talks every day at this point. Sometimes i listen to the Suttas, some days i read, but again, my practice is scattered, and consistency isn't my strong suit. So how does the practice benefit me?

Many years ago i had a dog, Zeus. I got him for my birthday, maybe when i was 8 or 9 or maybe even 10. I spent a lot of time with him. I taught him to climb a ladder, so he could play on the playground with me and climb up to the top bunk (I had bunkbeds, and i slept on the top bunk). I'd get him to climb a ladder and sit on the roof of the house. When i went to college i left him with my parents, but I'd bring him to visit for weeks and as soon as i graduated i found a pet-friendly apartment and took him back. Six months after i graduated Zeus got very sick. He had kidney problems, and his kidneys were failing. For what felt like weeks i was a wreck. He could barely stand up, and I'd go to work, and worry that I'd come home to a dead dog. I didn't know what to do. Finally, i got to a point where i realized there was nothing i could do, and that he was just lingering, and my parents came with me when we took him to the vet to let him go. I don't remember how long he lingered for, and sometimes i am left wondering if i waited too long to let him go.

From the outside, my experience with Verna may look similar. After her surgery, when we began to realize how serious her condition was, there was a lot of sadness. I couldn't talk much about her. We tried what we could to help her get better, even though we knew she didn't have much time. We waited until she couldn't walk and had been sick constantly for a whole day before we finally let her go. But there were differences. I was sad, but i wasn't a wreck. I couldn't talk about her condition, but i could function at work. I took her out, while she could enjoy it still, and said she was in the "make a wish foundation for doggies." (Sometimes i make up elaborate stories in my head. I try to keep a sense of humor about this trait.) I sat vigil with her, listening to talks or reading while in the same room with her and just letting her rest. The sadness was different. There wasn't the same sense of hopelessness or being lost. There was a confidence. I knew we wouldn't be ready to let her go until she couldn't walk, and that when the time was right we would know it. And even on that last day, she still responded to our concern. I am not left wondering if we let her go too soon; she was clearly in pain, even though her eyes would brighten when we talked to her. I am not left wondering if we waited too long, for the same reason i know we didn't let her go too soon, because even though she was in pain, she still loved us and still brightened when we talked to her.

That same confidence has crept into other areas of my life. I can be a chronic worrier. I sometimes joke that if i have nothing to worry about, i worry that i am not worrying enough. There are still aspects of my life i worry about, often regarding social situations or particulars activities. But on the whole i don't worry so much about the path my life is following. I might worry more that this is simply arrogance, but there are other benefits i feel. In particular, i don't feel so pushed around by my emotions, especially anger. I find i am less likely to say things i regret later. This aspect of the practice reminds of the acrobat simile, which is one of my original inspirations to practice. I find that practicing mindfulness in general, as well as mindfulness of the breath, helps me to calm down and slow down, so that i have time to think about the implications of my actions. Sometimes i still choose the wrong action, but having the chance to pause first means that i don't feel pushed into it, and can watch the effect and feel the effect more fully than when i would act without pausing first. Compared to enlightenment the fruits of greater confidence and not feeling pushed by emotions that i have gained from my practice may seem small. Still, it is enough to keep me inspired to continue practicing.