Читать книгу Love Dharma - Geri Larkin - Страница 9

Chapter One

THE ANCIENTS

In the sixth century before Christ, in the foothills of the Himalayas, near the present-day border between India and Nepal, there was a small but prosperous kingdom ruled by the warrior people Sakya. The capital city of the kingdom was Kapilavastu, and the land around was thickly dotted with smaller towns and villages. To the south of this kingdom lay the country of Kosala, and beyond that the kingdom of Magadha, in the area of the modern Indian state of Behar around Rajgir. To the east lay the land of Koliya, from which came Queen Mahamaya, the wife of the Sakyan ruler, King Suddhodana.

— Hammalawa Saddhatissa, Before He Was Buddha

IN THE YEAR 560 B.C., Queen Mahamaya gave birth to a son who was to grow into one of the great spiritual sages of all time. We know him as Buddha. His is a life well suited to the best story books. Siddhartha, the beloved son of a ruler, gives up everything, including a beautiful young wife and child, to search for the keys to happiness: “Take my clothes and my jewelry back to my father and tell him and my mother and my wife that they must not worry. I am going away to seek an escape from the misery of aging, sickness, and death. As soon as I have found it, I will return to the palace and teach it to my father, my mother, my wife, my son and everyone else. Then everyone will be truly happy.” 1

Following his renunciation of the princely life and six years of asceticism that included almost starving himself to death, young Siddhartha found his answer to the question of unhappiness in his own experience of complete enlightenment. His consequent message for achieving happiness, called the four noble truths, teaches that life is difficult for everyone and that it is difficult because we are always grasping and craving something we don’t have. Buddha promised a way out of our suffering. Called the eightfold path, his “middle way” is basically a set of principles for living a life of deep integrity. Such a life automatically brings compassion, peacefulness, love, and joy. More specifically, the eightfold path calls for right understanding, or seeing life as it really is; right thought, or doing our best not to succumb to anger, greediness, or denial; kind and tolerant speech; actions that demonstrate our respect for all the things and people in our lives (including those we wish lived far away); a livelihood with the same tendencies; giving everything we do everything we’ve got; mindfulness; and concentration.

For the rest of his life Buddha wandered the three hundred kilometers between the southern edge of the Himalayas and the Ganges, teaching his truths. His was a landscape thick with woods and jungles, complete with tigers, elephants, and rhinos. Wooded areas were broken up by fields of grains and dotted with villages that had grown up alongside slow and easy rivers. This is a geography that still only knows three seasons: so hot your skin itches, a cold similar to a late New England autumn, and monsoon. If you’ve never experienced a monsoon, it is hard to imagine what this season is like. Torrents of rain fall for hours each day, for weeks at a time. Floods prevent travel, and dirt roads become mud slides. Accompanying the rain? Armies of rats, snakes, and scorpions if you happen to reside at the base of the Himalayas.

Four kingdoms provided support for the young wanderer and his followers. North of the Ganges River was the kingdom of Kosala. Buddha’s family came from the city of Kapilavastu, which was right on the northern border of Kosala in the republic of Sakyas. Kosala is where one of Buddha’s best pals, King Pasenadi, lived. Southwest of Kosala was Vamsa, home to King Udena and a set of wives who tried to kill each other on a pretty regular basis. To the south of the river was the kingdom of Avanti and to the east of Avanti, Magadha. Buddha and his followers seemed to spend most of their time here. Another of his best friends and later a major donor, King Bimbisara, lived in Magadha. Because his kingdom was prosperous, thanks to iron ore mining, Bimbisara was able to keep Buddha’s followers in food and shelter, even as their numbers grew into the thousands. Marriages linked the kingdoms in one way or another, for better or worse. Mostly, a relatively peaceful coexistence was the order of the day, and people could freely cross the borders between the different kingdoms.

Much is known about the first people attracted to the teachings of Buddha. His time period was one where the homeless spiritual seeker was a familiar sight. In the decades before Buddha was born, a spontaneous movement supporting spiritual growth had surfaced. People were starting to break out of the existing spiritual disciplines, with their rituals and caste orientation. What some call “a psychosis of spiritual seeking” had seized the young men of the warrior and merchant classes across the four kingdoms. Thousands abandoned their work and turned their wives and children over to their extended families for safekeeping so they themselves could take on the lifestyle of a wandering ascetic. While the young men’s choices of spiritual practices ranged from self-mutilation to vows of complete silence, almost all of them were on a constant lookout for a teacher who could instruct them on genuine spiritual practice.

Along came Buddha. At thirty-six he was an attractive teacher: handsome, smart, obviously from the princely caste— and enlightened. Men, mostly from the ruling class, began to follow him. First they showed up in small groups, then in hundreds, then by the thousands. Young, eager, and bright, they left families and livelihoods to follow Buddha and embrace his teachings, walking from village to village not so much to preach as to demonstrate, by example, the power of Buddha’s understanding. Yasa was one of these. The epitome of the idly rich young man, he bumped into Buddha in one of the deer parks where the Buddha would go to meditate. Asking Buddha about himself, Yasa was so struck by the innate joy and wisdom emanating from the monk that he immediately renounced his princely life to search for what Buddha had found—bringing his fifty-four best friends along with him.

Then there were the three Kassapa brothers, “matted-hair ascetics” who had a local monopoly on the spiritual market, with more than a thousand followers between them. Hearing Buddha, they also became disciples. In later years one of the brothers, suddenly realizing how all of what Buddha was teaching could be manifested in a single flower, became Buddha’s first dharma heir, responsible for guaranteeing that the teachings survived Buddha’s own passing. The sons of the headmen of two villages, Sariputta and Moggallana, also became followers, responsible for translating many of Buddha’s words into “the language of the valley,” or local idiom, and teaching the growing crowds of followers when Buddha was unavailable.

In the meantime, what about the women? What of their lives? It was bad enough that they had to survive at least two miserable seasons every year. It was bad enough to live in a social system, a caste system, where they were utterly dependent upon their extended families and, for married women, the kindness of their husbands’ families. To make matters worse, in addition to facing the natural disasters of their lives—disease, dire poverty, the deaths of beloved relatives—many of the women lost their men—their sons, lovers, husbands, brothers, and fathers—to asceticism. Where did these women fit in?

For Buddha’s first few years of teaching, the answer was: nowhere.

But then Ananda surfaced, and he was a surprise advocate for female spiritual seekers. Ananda, Buddha’s cousin and attendant in his later years, was a naturally kind and compassionate monk. He cared about everybody’s welfare—not just the monks but also women and children. As the women relatives of the first followers of Buddha heard about the men’s spiritual experiences studying with the Buddha, many of them wanted to sign up as well.

Ananda watched all of this unfold.

One of those women was Pajapati, Buddha’s beloved stepmother. By all accounts Pajapati was a sweet and nurturing parent, nursing the young prince through his childhood and seeing him through his own marriage at sixteen to her cousin, Yasodara. Following Buddha’s enlightenment, and after hearing him teach, many of his relatives wanted to become disciples. His father and his six siblings and cousins, all male, were the first group to insist that they be allowed to study with him. Pajapati wanted in as well, but was held back by familial obligations. Then, when Buddha’s father, Suddhodana, died in 524 b.c., she finally had the freedom to become a mendicant follower. Determined to become one, and knowing that Buddha had refused all female disciples to date, Pajapati cautiously asked Buddha for permission to become his student. Now elderly, she sought him out in the Nigrodha Grove, just outside Buddha’s hometown. “It would be good, she said, if women too could go forth into homelessness in the Dharma proclaimed by you.” 2

Buddha flat-out refused. “Do not be eager to obtain the going forth of women from home to homelessness in the Dhamma and Discipline proclaimed by the Tathagata.” 3 His stepmother was crushed. Pajapati talked with female friends and relatives about her yearning only to discover a groundswell of shared feelings. Many women wanted to be nuns, wanted to follow Buddha. Not easily dissuaded, the women began to organize.

The women decided to approach Buddha as a group and formally ask his permission to follow him as traveling mendicants. Three times he rejected their appeal. After the third refusal he and the monks left for Vesali, about a hundred miles away. To demonstrate their spunk and determination, Pajapati and a handful of women followed him anyway. They wanted to prove that they could survive as wanderers as well as the monks could. They cut off their hair and put on the yellow robes of a disciple to show the sincerity of their hope to become disciples.

The group made it to Vesali. When Buddha spotted them, feet swollen, filthy, and crying from exhaustion, he was not happy. Ananda, on the other hand, couldn’t bear to see Pajapati treated the way Buddha was treating her. He decided to intercede on behalf of the women. Buddha also said no to him. Three times. “Do not be eager, Ananda, to obtain the going forth of women from home into homelessness in the Dhamma and Discipline proclaimed by the Tathagata.” 4

Ananda refused to take no for an answer. Trying a different tack, he asked Buddha the core question of the time for all women: “Is a woman able to gain the fruit of stream-entry [the experience of no-self ] or of once returning [ having one more life to go through before enlightenment], or of non-returning [ living the last life before enlightenment], or of arahantship [ living without desire and hatred and worthy of being worshipped], if she leaves the household life and enters into homelessness in the Dhamma and Discipline of the Tathagata?” 5

“Yes.”

“If a woman is able to do this, Lord—and moreover Mahaprajapati Gotami has rendered great service to the Blessed One: she is his aunt, his governess, and nurse, nourished him with her own milk after his mother died—therefore it would be good if the Blessed One would allow women to leave home for the homeless life in the Dhamma . . .” 6

Our hero. He got Buddha to admit that women are capable of enlightenment—out loud. Plus, these were the women who had nurtured and cared for the monks so that the men could do their spiritual work. Surely they deserved the same exposure to the teachings.

With trepidation Buddha allowed the women to become followers, opening a whole new vista to them: Constant spiritual practice. Teachings unlike any they had heard before. Different interpretations of their lives. Different priorities to their days. Whole new outlooks on relationships. Different takes on love.

As soon as Pajapati was ordained as a nun she saluted Buddha and stood to one side while he began to teach. Standing there, Pajapati experienced a deep awakening. So profound was her experience that she later let loose with a long prose poem describing the profound change in her life that had already come from studying with Buddha:

Buddha the waken, the hero, hail!

Supreme o’er every being that hath life,

Who from all ill and sorrow hast released

Me and so many, many stricken folk.

Now I have understood how I doth come.

Craving, the cause, in me is dried up.

Have I not trod, have I not touched the end

Of ill—The Eightfold Path?

Oh! But tis long I’ve wandered down all time.

Living as mother, father, brother, son,

And as grandparent in the ages past—

Not knowing how and what things really are.

And never finding what I needed.

But now mine eyes have seen the Exalted One;

And now I know this living frame’s the last,

And shattered is th’ unending round of births.

No more Pajapati shall come to be! 7

It was a new ball game for women.

Thousands followed Buddha during his lifetime. They came from all walks of life and from all classes. Some were royalty, others servants. Many were the mothers or sisters of the monks; a few were abandoned wives. Prostitutes studied beside harem women who studied beside grandmothers. Together, they demonstrated a determination to let go of the junk of their lives, to get past soured relationships, to burrow through the mountains of resentment and negative emotions accumulated over lifetimes. In their wake came fresh views on love and relationships, crazy wisdom for a new millennium, and not a moment too soon.

THE WOMEN

While the women who stumbled into enlightenment weren’t as closely related to Buddha as Pajapati, each of the women introduced here, all members of the initial group of followers, has left behind wisdom on how to live happily in a world of relationship samsara (the painful cycle of birth, death, and rebirth).

Known her entire life as one of the most breathtaking beauties in five kingdoms, Ambapali was so astonishingly beautiful that princes fought over her. Their battles finally ended when she was officially appointed chief courtesan of the city of Vesali. In those days, the role of courtesan was considered to be a positive thing. It gave women an inordinate amount of independence relative to wives or other single women. In Ambapali’s case, she evolved into a very wealthy businesswoman. She also bore a son to Buddha’s buddy King Bimbisara and was responsible for building a hermitage where Buddha and his monks spent many of their retreats. Over time, Ambapali watched her livelihood and all of her social support erode as age inevitably robbed her of her identity, not to mention the relationships that had physically and financially supported her for years. She teaches us about impermanence, appreciation, and the fine art of being content.

Capa was the daughter of a trapper who was known for his generous provision of food for many young monks. Capa fell in love with one of them; they married and had a child, but the monk abandoned her to go back to the life of an ascetic. Capa defined love in a whole new way. Out of her deep love for her husband she was able to help him leave her!

Born to a well-to-do family, Citta followed Buddha’s teachings for something like fifty years before she finally had her first experience of enlightenment as an old, old woman. Citta teaches us about caring for ourselves first and foremost. Doing no harm starts with the body-mind that has our name on it.

Isadasi was a woman who desperately tried to be the perfect wife, following all the complicated cultural rules of the day— acting toward her husband as a mother, a servant. Despite all her efforts, her husband couldn’t stand her and left. She gives us more lessons on working through, and with, abandonment.

Khema was one of the two women responsible for running the first community of nuns. She came from a ruling family and was so beautiful that her skin was described as the color of pure gold. As a young woman she was the chief consort of King Bimbisara, eventually giving up even that relationship for a shot at enlightenment. Khema reminds us that life is much too short. We need to stay clear on what really matters.

Unlike most of the other women, Kisagotami came from a poor family. As a young bride, she was terribly mistreated by her in-laws. When she bore a son she was better treated. She became a model wife and mother until her baby died as a toddler. Insane with grief, Kisagotami went to Buddha, begging him to bring her baby back to life. Her story is about the compassion we all experience that springs from a deep loss. In these places we realize that the most important thing in life is not a relationship with someone else, it is the relationship we have with ourselves. It is how we nurture that relationship.

On the other end of the social scale was Mallika, the queen of Kosala. The spunky and independent-minded wife of King Pasenadi, Mallika cajoled him with so much vehemence to listen to Buddha that he finally gave in to save their relationship . . . and became one of Buddha’s disciples himself. Theirs is a long, happy love story. When Mallika dies before her husband, he goes insane with grief. Mallika’s story alone could fill a book. She faced jealousy and competition at every turn—the down and dirty, mean and ugly components of relationships, yet she was able to overcome them all.

Patacara was one of the most powerful leaders among the women disciples. A skilled and gifted teacher in her later years, Patacara was one of the few nuns who actually preached to laypeople. Her story is important because it clarifies the appropriateness of women as teachers. Patacara came from a banker’s family and was supposed to marry a young man of equal rank; instead, she ran away with her lover, one of the family servants. Basically, her life went downhill from there until she resolved to follow the Buddha, quickly making a name for herself as a disciplined and knowledgeable nun. She teaches about the cost of lust and the need to be clear about what we really mean when we say, or think, we love someone.

Samavati was a prominent laywoman from a merchant family of Bhaddavati. She learned about Buddha from her slave woman Khujjuttara, who spent every cent she had on flowers for a little altar after she heard Buddha’s first teaching. Samavati couldn’t believe how happy her slave was and had to see what was going on for herself, knowing that following her slave’s footsteps could mean giving up her relationships and her social standing. Samavati’s story reminds us of an important question: How much do we really need when it comes to relationships? Do we really need to be swept off our feet? Are we really looking for a prince? Was Cinderella a total setup?

Sirima and Uttara were both members of Buddha’s harem when he was a young prince. In fact, their lives were more like those of indentured servants. As the story goes, they both loved Buddha so much that they decided to follow him even when they thought he might be completely nuts. While their lives had been difficult in the palace, at least there they had shelter, food, and clothing. The two made a pact to give even these things up to follow Buddha on the chance that he really had something to teach. Happily, he did. Sirima and Uttara teach us the value of friendship between women and the rewards that come with putting our spiritual work at the top of our to-do list.

Again and again we are faced with the same burning question: What really matters?

Subha was a later addition to the group. Born into an eminent Brahmin family in Buddha’s hometown, Subha decided at an early age that she wanted to become a nun under Pajapati. When she is almost raped by a man in love with her “beautiful eyes,” she blinds herself so he will no longer be attracted to her. Okay, maybe that’s a little extreme, but you get her point. Subha teaches us about the distractions that come with beauty and about how we need to be clear about what is truly important in our all too short lives.

Vasuladatta and Magandiya were also consorts of King Udena. Both were actually offered to Buddha as wives when he was young. When he said no, they became wives of King Udena. Apparently they never quite got over Buddha’s rejection, at least Magandiya never did. She became so hateful, and so jealous of the king’s other wives, that she actually burned her biggest rival to death. That the young woman could commit such a heinous deed and later become a nun is a tribute to the power of salvation in a heart so sincere that it not only wants forgiveness but awakening, too. Her story is a literal reminder that jealousy can kill.

Vimala was the daughter of a prostitute and decided to follow her mother’s career path. She was also apparently quite a beauty. So overwhelmed with lust at the first sight of him, Vimala did her darnedest to seduce Moggallana, one of Buddha’s top disciples. His response was to call her some pretty horrible names. This so shocked her that she wanted to find out what had given him the ability to reject her. That curiosity led to her becoming a nun and, later, enlightened.

Her story reminds us that so much opens up to us when we let go of our need for physical beauty—ours and our partner’s.

And finally, there is Visaka. She was the loving wife of an eminent man who, after hearing the Buddha teach, decided he would never touch a woman again. Visaka decided to follow Buddha as well and gave up her social standing for a life of meditation in the country. After some time she returned home to find that her husband had decided not to renounce the world after all. Rather than respond in anger, Visaka became her husband’s teacher. Buddha was known to say that she was such a skilled educator that her words were his words. Some people believe that portions of the Dhammapada, one of the most well-known collections of Buddha’s teachings, are actually the teachings of Visaka. Her story demonstrates the truth of our potential as teachers.

For most of the women who followed Buddha, problems in their relationships caused the pain that led them to him. In most cases, relationships were ripped out from under them for one reason or another. In others, the women themselves walked away from their husband or lover—an awesome act of courage given the time and the place. In each of the 166 stories that have lasted through the centuries, miracle of miracles, enlightenment arrived through each woman’s understanding of the impermanence of all of the components of relationships— youth, beauty, well-defined roles, commitment, acceptance. Sometimes enlightenment happened quickly. Other times it took years. Out of these women’s lives emerged a deep humility and compassion and a driving need to surrender to the reality of their situations. As a result, “the great ball of doubt” or momentum toward the experience of enlightenment was allowed to grow until at last a deep, secure, and abiding happiness laid at their feet. And we rejoice. Because if they can, you and I can. In the wake of their experiences arose relationship dharma. Wisdom that we can use to figure out our own lives, to set our relationships upright, to find our own awakened hearts.

SOME OF THE WOMEN described in this book have become known to us because their lives show up in Buddha’s own teachings. Their sincere efforts, demonstrating an abiding faith in the four noble truths, were so strong that he singled out their behavior as an example to other spiritual seekers. For most of the women, however, the journey of their stories to our place in time was much different, much quieter. These women shared the stories of their enlightenment in the form of prose poems that were memorized and passed along, generation by generation, for some say 350 years. At that point they were finally written onto palm leaves during a major Buddhist council that was held in Sri Lanka somewhere around 80 b.c. Long neglected, the poems resurfaced in 1909 in a translation by a wild woman adventurer named Caroline Rhys David. After that, silence again until K. R. Norman published an academic translation of the Therigatha in 1971. It took another twenty years for Boston-based Susan Murcott to trip over Norman’s translation during a stay in Melbourne, Australia, and find the time, heart, and energy to further free the stories from the old texts.

Thank Buddha she did. You and I need the stories of these ancient women. We need them as proof that we all have sadness in our lives. We all have crises. We all have relationship issues. Not a single one of us is safe. Yet in the same breath they offer their lives as proof that we can survive the despair and the heartbreaks. Most of all, these women stand as models for how we can transform our personal tragedies into our own awakening. I cannot imagine a greater gift.