Clinging to what is “mine”

The teaching “Nothing is mine” is extremely idealistic, so idealistic that we feel we cannot practise it. For all beings' clinging to “what is mine” (chấp ngã sở) is truly formidable.

Property

Property is a very strong clinging, the most fundamental and the easiest to see in human beings.

Money is as dear as our own flesh. Everyone sees the money as mine, the house as mine, the car as mine, the land as mine... and no one may touch it. Even Buddhists who make an effort to cultivate the practice of giving find that giving a little money is easy, but when it comes to large things like a house, a car, a plot of land..., it is hard to let go.

The press once reported a lawsuit between two neighbours whose houses stood side by side. In the plan the boundary had been drawn off by just one centimetre, a tiny amount, yet they were determined to sue each other to the end, and the case took ten years to settle. Or in many families, brothers and sisters of one blood, as soon as their parents die they start calculating how to divide the inheritance, and sometimes, with their father's coffin still lying there, the children have already set about killing one another without mercy. Seeing such scenes, we understand that people's greedy clinging to property is terrible and can lead to countless wrongs. So those who can overcome this clinging have passed a very great fault in this world.

There was once a temple where, after the teacher died, two brothers in the Dharma remained to practise. The elder brother should have succeeded as abbot, but seeing that his younger brother wanted to be abbot so much and was beginning to show tension, he decided to leave. One early morning he put a few sets of clothes in a bundle and quietly went away, leaving the temple to his younger brother without a question or a lingering thought. His life of practice was free and at ease, and many people admired him; but the younger brother's life later ended in failure and great misery. So a person who lives lightly, letting go, will find that heaven and earth gradually entrust them with greater things, while whoever clings to everything as “mine” will lose it all.

Affection

Affection is a great clinging of human beings. As children we see: this is my father, my mother, my brothers and sisters; when we grow up we see: my wife, my husband, my children... The clinging to “my wife, my husband” is so fierce that out of jealousy people are ready to kill one another. In some cases, when a wife wanted a divorce, the husband killed his wife and children and then took his own life. Clinging in affection is a truly terrible, heavy bond. Some old Buddhist stories tell of the Buddha's previous lives, among them one in which he gave away even his wife and children. We find this very strange: why give one's wife and children to others, not knowing whether they will live or be happy? However, this is only a symbolic image, meaning that whatever human beings cling to is what a saint, a Bodhisattva, lets go of into emptiness.

Honour, reputation and fame

Honour, reputation and fame are also a very great clinging of human beings. When humiliated or falsely accused, people are ready to fight each other to the death. That is the worldly person. Here we recall the great example of forbearance of the Zen masters, typified by the story of Zen Master Hakuin Ekaku. After his enlightenment, he went to live in the countryside in a hut near the villagers and tended cattle day after day. In the village an unmarried girl suddenly became pregnant; this was a scandalous matter, a deep shame for her whole family and clan. Her parents questioned and scolded her, and in her fear she blurted out that the father of the child was Zen Master Hakuin. Furious, they went to him and abused him bitterly. All he said was: “Is that so?” The news of the scandal spread quickly throughout the town and flew far into the neighbouring regions, so that the Zen master's reputation fell. Though he was slandered and humiliated to that degree, he remained calm, his mind not stirred by even a ripple of distress.

After the child was born, they brought it to him and made him raise it. The Zen master said nothing, simply took the baby, loved and cared for it, and went out day after day to beg milk for the child.

Faced with his virtue, some time later the girl could bear it no longer and confessed to her parents that the child's father was a young man who sold fish at the market. Full of remorse, they went to the Zen master to apologise and ask for his forgiveness. He again said only: “Is that so?” and handed the baby back to them. At this point we want only to fall to the ground and prostrate to him, for no words can express the Zen master's profound virtue, his ease and peace, and his boundless compassion.

That is how great a true practitioner is! An ordinary person, by contrast, clings: this is my honour, this is my reputation, and they compete over every word, arguing to the end: “I didn't do it, why blame me?”, “I'm a good person, why do you say I'm wicked?”... And such clinging only piles more sorrow upon us.

Position

People in this world compete for every small position, from the family to the hamlet, the village, the commune, up to the country, and finally to the level of the world. From ancient times until now, in fighting over position and power, people have struggled and fought each other to the death, causing so many tragedies. So the clinging to position too is truly terrible.

The body

Although we do not feel it very clearly, we have a terrible clinging to our own body, our physical form. Property, honour and affection are outside us, whereas the body seems to be ours, located in ourselves; so it is the root clinging, the heaviest clinging of all beings. The Buddha taught: “This form is not mine; this feeling, perception, mental formation and consciousness is not mine.” The Buddha taught the contemplation of the body as impermanent in great detail to strike right at this root clinging. So, to enter the core of spiritual practice, we must come to see through experience that this body is not ours. We think it over and over, and test it over and over. Even when paying homage to the Buddha or sitting in meditation, we examine that the body is impermanent and not ours: here today, gone tomorrow; we want it to be healthy but it is not, we want it not to be sick but it gets sick, we want it to sleep but it stays awake, we want it to be young and beautiful but it still grows old... This body is born, grows up, then will age and fall ill, and one day will die and decay. After death this body will swell, give off a foul smell, be full of maggots and worms, and lose its shape, which is dreadful. Some time later the flesh and skin disintegrate and wither, leaving only a dry skeleton. Then over many years the bones crumble, turn into ash and dust, and are blown away by the wind. (We must practise the contemplation of the body as impermanent until we are skilled in it, especially from death until the bones disintegrate into ash and dust and are blown away.)

I vow to understand that there is no self,

Only heaven and earth, vast and wide;

Body and mind are as fleeting as the morning mist,

For endless lifetimes I will rely on the Buddha's shadow.

If we can see this deeply, all the other clingings break apart, because if even this body is not ours, what in this world is ours? That is, if we break the clinging to the body, all other clingings, to property, honour, position, fame, affection..., collapse too. The Buddha's wisdom is absolute in this way. He teaches beings to cut down the tree at its very root (that is, to the clinging to the body) so that all the branches and leaves (the other clingings) fall away of themselves. Whoever can practise exactly as the Buddha taught will find their heart as spacious as the clouds in the sky and will see the wonder of the spiritual life.