Od Ton

‘Od ton’ means patient endurance…

“What is practice really all about? What’s the real practice?”

There have always been a number of monks who say, ‘I don’t want to stay at Nanachat. It’s a good place when you start out, but it’s not where you can do the real practice. The real practice is over there…, the real practice is in a cave in Chiang Mai or whatever… The real practice is in this or that place… – not at Wat Nanachat.’

This has been a constant point of discussion over the years and, I think, often the very real benefits of training here have been overlooked or have been underestimated.

We can often develop a hierarchy of wholesome qualities in our minds. We can be led to romanticize and idealize aspects of the life. Of course, formal practice should always form the heart of our life as forest monks, and states of deep meditation are certainly to be aspired to, but the problem that can arise is that we can downplay foundational virtues that, in the long run, are absolutely essential.

Patient endurance is a good example. People say, ‘…well, I didn’t get anything from that at all, except for patient endurance.’ It’s like ‘I didn’t get anything really worthwhile, but anyway, I guess a bit of patience is better than nothing.’ The Buddha himself, on the other hand, taught that patient endurance is the supreme incinerator of defilements. This is a phrase that we perhaps don’t give as much importance to as we might.

…In many ways living together as a community is not a comfortable experience…But the fact that it’s not comfortable is actually the point of it.

…After a long monastic career I’ve experienced many different types of training environments, and, as you know, the last few years I have been living in solitude. I think I have quite a good grasp of the contrasts and the advantages and disadvantages of different ways of living this life. As regards a more solitary style, or the kind of life that many of us might characterize as ‘the real kind of practice’, I can see that, yes, the continuity, the lack of demands upon one’s time, the lack of tension, the lack of stress and conflict and so on, are very conducive in a way.

But I also noticed that there are certain very important aspects of practice that are more difficult living alone and which can be developed much more easily in this kind of communal environment. For example: just yesterday, when the senior monks had a little meeting I made a certain statement. Another monk very skilfully said to me, ‘Well, no, that’s not right.’ So I adapted and reformulated my statement, and the monk smiled a bit and said, ‘Well, no, that’s not right either.’ He was definitely correct, and I was incorrect, so I shut up.

And then all of a sudden I thought, ‘Wow, this is what I’m missing: living alone these days I never have that experience when somebody tells me I’m wrong or somebody points it out when I make a mistake, when I’m looking at things in the wrong way or I’m lacking the necessary information or working from the wrong information. This is a clear benefit of living in a community of good friends.’

The kind of things which are difficult to see living alone in the forest are one’s own ditthi and mana – views and opinions, the conceit, the ideas about who you are. Whereas you may have quite a clear and subtle awareness of the arising and passing away of moods and thoughts in consciousness, ditthi mana are more subtle; they can provide the ground in which these are perceived.

You might compare it with a painting: the ditthi and the mana are more like the canvas or the particular mode of expression – whether it’s an oil painting or a water-colour. They do not draw the eye in the same way as the particular forms that constitute the painting.

…Each of our experiences is filtered through a certain lens, a framework. This framing process lies for the most part within the realm of ditthi. And in the early years of monastic life, what we were really concerned about more than anything else (apart from developing sense restraint, and skills in using the Vinaya and korwat to firmly ground ourselves in the present moment), is to straighten our ditthi; to create correct and beneficial frames.

Even in a monastery there are so many things that can bring up unwholesome dhammas merely because of the frames through which we perceive them: frames conditioned by our expectations, fears and desires.

These reflections by Ajahn Jayasaro are excerpted from the chapter “The Real Practice,” from the booklet The Real Practice.