Sending and taking should be practiced alternately. These two should ride the breath.

Cedar Waxwing - Photo by Dave Kilbey

          Here in North America, many trees and shrubs depend on birds to disperse their seeds. Berries are swallowed whole, the fruit digested, and then seeds are expelled away from the parent plant. This provided transport prevents the seeds from being in competition for water and light with well-established plants. A bird's digestive system also wears away some of the hard seed covering, improving its chances of sprouting once it reaches the soil. The relationship is mutually beneficial to both birds and plants, providing food for one group and increasing reproductive prospects for the other. Tonglen, a meditation of breathing in the suffering of others and breathing out with a wish for their comfort, is mutually valuable as well. For the person practicing tonglen, it loosens the ties of self-absorption, dissolves that feeling of separation, develops courage, and opens the heart. The person on the receiving end benefits too, though not through some magical lifting of their burden. Instead it comes through the compassionate, nonjudgmental focus of the practitioner, who doesn't run or attempt to avoid their pain.

I happened to be present one of the first times Tibetan meditation master Chögyam Trungpa sprang this bizarre sounding practice on an unsuspecting Western audience. One student of yoga had raised his hand and asked, with some bewilderment, why it wouldn't be better to imagine breathing in love and light and breathing out all negative impurities....Trungpa's unhesitating reply: “Well, then you'd just be like a polluting factory, taking in all these good resources and spewing out your gray cloud on everyone else.” ~ Marc Barasch

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Slogan Seven

Sending and taking should be practiced alternately. These two should ride the breath.

From the Lojong for the Layperson booklet:            
       “Sending and taking” refers to tonglen, a meditation that instills compassion. Norman Fischer defines compassion as “the willingness to feel pain with another, to feel another’s pain as one’s own.” Tonglen trains us to move toward rather than away from suffering; it teaches us that our pain is the same as that of other people. To practice, we visualize taking another’s suffering into ourselves as we inhale, perhaps feeling the air as hot and heavy or seeing it as dark and smoky. We pause, picturing the pain being converted into peace, healing and happiness. We breathe these wishes out to the person who suffers, imagining this breath as feeling light and cooling or appearing clear and radiant. Tonglen is also practiced with our own anguish; as we realize others feel this same pain, we extend our practice to include them. We are not harmed by the suffering we breathe in, but are transformed by it. It softens our hearts, making us more loving and kind.

Photo: Bare firethorn branch and azalea branch between two stones and bounded by Boston fern fronds.

                Are you familiar with the TARDIS on the British television show Doctor Who? From the outside its size appears deceptively small, much like our hearts. The first time I read about tonglen practice, my response was “Ugh, how awful!” I wish I could blame my reaction on being brainwashed by the Law of Attraction movement, but the reason went much deeper than that. I felt as if my emotional knapsack was full to bursting. I was barely managing my own pain and had no room for another person’s suffering. Buddhist wisdom nevertheless assures us that our hearts are much more expansive than we may think. As I breathe in with the longing to remove suffering and breathe out with the wish to send comfort and relief, my self-absorption loosens and my compassionate side unlocks. I begin to recognize my kinship and connection with all beings: everyone suffers. Like Seuss’s grumpy Grinch, I may suddenly discover my heart has grown by three sizes. 

Because suffering is impermanent, that is why we can transform it.

Because happiness is impermanent, that is why we have to nourish it.

~ Thich Nhat Hanh