No Mud, No LotusToday marks the first day of spring where I live. Earlier this week, I awoke in the middle of the night to a deluge of rain pounding on the windows, strong wind whipping through the bare trees outside in a whistling whirl. Thunder boomed, lightning struck, and the morning brought little relief. A sideways pour of heavy water continued through the next day, the sheer force of it all leading me to think that something must be shifting — the darkness of winter finally washing away for good. When the storm cleared, winter’s remaining snow and ice had transformed into a muddy trail of muck in my neighborhood. “No mud, no lotus,” the famous Thich Nhat Hanh teaching goes, and though I’ve stepped in my fair share of too-soft ground this week, I’ve found myself unusually grateful for it. This winter has been a near-constant tip-toe on slick ice and uneven snow banks, constantly shifting weight to avoid the ground coming out from beneath me. This week, I’ve found myself revelling in the way the softened earth has welcomed each footstep, allowing my feet to sink into it at last, no longer rejecting the path I wish to wear upon it. The late Mary Oliver expresses a similar appreciation in her poem “Rice”: It grew in the black mud.
It grew under the tiger’s orange paws.
Its stems thinner than candles, and as straight.
Its leaves like the feathers of egrets, but green.
The grains cresting, wanting to burst.
Oh, blood of the tiger.
I don’t want you just to sit down at the table.
I don’t want you just to eat, and be content.
I want you to walk out into the fields
where the water is shining, and the rice has risen.
I want you to stand there, far from the white tablecloth.
I want you to fill your hands with the mud, like a blessing. So often we wish to bypass the difficult, messy parts of life, eager to reach the reward of the lotus on the other side. But just as a seed needs rain and mud to grow into a flower, we, too, have the potential to be wonderfully shaped by the challenges we face. The mud and muck will feed us eventually, bringing a nourishing bowl of rice to our table. The three teachings below capture this lesson beautifully. May they inspire you to embrace this new season, and when at last the bowl of rice arrives, to eat it with a smile. —Lilly Greenblatt, digital editor, Lion’s Roar |
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To truly take care of the planet, we need to take care of our own suffering, says Brother Phap Huu.
We’re here to grow and transform continually. And in transformation, we sometimes need mud. It’s a good ingredient to help nurture the lotus flower within us. Our practice involves taking care of the “mud,” learning to accept, see, feel, and even smell it. Then we nurture it into flowers of wisdom. The teaching of “no mud, no lotus” reminds us that suffering and happiness are intertwined, supporting one another. The lotus may symbolize the beauty and happiness in life, but once you cut it and place it in a vase with clean water, it’ll only last for a few hours before wilting. However, the lotus thrives in the mud, knowing how to regenerate itself; it possesses the wisdom to be present and let go. Thanks to the mud, it can grow, bloom again, and offer itself to the world.  |
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Diana Winston shares her advice on how to meditate every day, “even if you would rather me thrown into a shark-infested ocean.”
When we look deeply we see that suffering and happiness inter-are, just as the mud and the lotus interpenetrate each other. A lotus can only grow in mud. If there were no mud, there would be no lotus flower. There’s a very close connection between suffering and happiness, just as there is between mud and lotus. Real happiness is possible when we have the right view of suffering and happiness. It’s the same as front and back, right and left. The right cannot exist without the left; the left cannot exist without the right. Happiness cannot exist without suffering. When we live mindfully, we try to live in such a way that we can generate the energies of mindfulness, concentration, and insight throughout the day. These are the energies that bring us happiness and the clarity that we call right view. When we have right view, we’re able to practice right thinking. Right thinking is based on right view; it’s thinking that’s characterized by nondiscrimination and nonduality. According to right view, there can be no happiness without suffering. Our thinking can make us suffer, but it can also make us free. We need right thinking to help us stop our suffering. |
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It takes root; it grows; it blooms. Cheryl Wilfong on how meditation practice is cultivated like a garden.
If you don’t have an established practice, I recommend beginning your meditation by softening the heart. First, visualize a place of still water. This feeling may last for only a second. Notice that. Next, express gratitude for the blessings of your life, even the common things that you take for granted. Third, practice loving-kindness toward yourself. This tenderizing of the heart is like preparing the soil in our garden — we turn the soil and add the compost of caring. Then we plant the seeds of mindfulness by focusing on the breath, sounds, or sensations. After your timer goes off, try to sit in a chair by a window with a nice view, or perhaps on a deck. With a cup of tea in hand, contemplate an aspect of a recent dharma reading. or stroll around a garden. |
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