If you wanted to break down the phenomena, there would only be immobility and happening: space and what is constantly born from space and returns to space – silence and happening. Sometimes called background and foreground. Anyway, what I want to talk about is that I don’t prefer stillness or events, or, you might say, the busyness of samsara or the tranquility of nirvana.
There is usually some kind of bias. There are two common forms of human neurosis. Man gets caught up in everything in worry, fear and hope, will and not will, and things: jobs, families, romances, houses, cars, money, vacations, fun, mountains, desert, Europe, Mexico, Jamaica, Calcutta black hole, prison, war or peace, and so on. Many of us get carried away by everything that happens, we are somehow carried away by the event, as if we were in a vortex. In samsara, we are constantly trying to get rid of pain by seeking pleasure, and in doing so we just go round and round and round. I’m so hot I open all the windows, then I’m so cold I put on a sweater. Then it itches, so I put cream on my arm, then it’s sticky, so I go take a bath. Then I get cold, so I close the window, and on and on. I’m lonely, so I get married, then I always fight with my husband or wife, so I start another relationship, then my wife or husband threatens to leave me, and I’m confused about what to do next, and so on and on. We are always trying to get out of the boiling pot into some coolness, we are always trying to escape, and therefore we never really settle down and appreciate it. This is called samsara. In other words, we somehow prioritize events, so we always work within the framework of trying to be comfortable across political beliefs, philosophies, religions and everything, and trying to find joy in whatever happens.
The other neurosis, which is just as common, is that of being caught up in peace and quiet, liberation or freedom. When I was traveling, I met some people who formed a group based on the belief that a flying saucer would come and take them away from it all. They were waiting for the flying saucers to come and free them from the harshness of this earth. They spoke of transcending the horrors of life, of reaching space, of purity and happiness, that they were not hindered in any way, but completely free. When the spaceship took them, they went to a place where there wouldn’t be any problems. It’s what we all do in a subtle way. When we experience purity or happiness, we want to continue it. Many addictions are about wanting to feel good forever, but usually not. However, this is a very common neurosis, it captures that they want to stay out, they want to stay in space, like some of my friends in the seventies who decided to take LSD every day to stay out. Sometimes this is expressed by arranging your life to be very quiet, very smooth, very simplistic; you are so attached to him that you just want to keep him. You resist and resent any noisy situation, like when lots of kids or dogs come in and mess things up. There are people who have tremendous insight into the vast and wonderful nature of reality—sometimes called holy insight—but then become completely dissatisfied with ordinary life. Instead of a glimpse of the holy outlook actually enriching their lives, it makes them feel poorer and poorer. People often go from neurosis to psychosis because they see the vastness of how vast things are and how the world really works, but then they cling to their insight and get completely caught up. It has been said precisely that a psychotic person drowns in the same things that a mystic swims in.
It has been said precisely that a psychotic person drowns in the same things that a mystic swims in.
What I am saying here is that the ego can use anything to recreate itself, whether it is occurrence or vastness, whether we call it samsara or nirvana. Many religious groups are biased in wanting to get away from the earth and the pain of the earth and never have to experience this horror again – “Let’s leave it behind and rest in nirvana.” Yet, as a Buddhist chant says, the Buddha “does not reside in nirvana, but in ultimate perfection.” Arguably, if you are not in nirvana, the ultimate perfection must be to fully realize that samsara and nirvana are one, and not to prefer silence or happenings, but to be able to fully coexist with both.
I recently saw a quote from one of them on the wall in a friend’s kitchen Chogyam Trungpa Rinpochehis speeches, which read: “Keep in your heart the sadness and pain of samsara, and at the same time the power and vision of the Great Eastern Sun. Then the warrior can make a cup of tea.” I was shocked because when I read it, I realized that I myself like peace. The thought that I was holding the sadness and pain of samsara in my heart seemed true, but I realized that I hadn’t; at least I definitely preferred the power and vision of the Great Eastern Sun, the quality of constant wakefulness. My point of reference has always been to be awake and live life to the fullest, remembering the Great Eastern Sun. But what if I hold the sadness and pain of samsara in my heart at the same time? The quote really made an impression on me. It was absolutely true: if you can live with the sadness of human life (what Rinpoche often called the tender heart or the true heart of sadness), if you are willing to fully feel your own sadness and the sadness of life, but at the same time not drown in it, because you also remember the vision and power of the Great Eastern Sun, then you experience balance, practicality and wholeness, completeness, vision. We speak of men and women being united between heaven and earth, but in reality they are already united. There is no difference between samsara and nirvana, between the sadness and pain of samsara and the vision and power of the Great Eastern Sun. You can keep both in your heart, which is actually the purpose of practice. As a result, a decent cup of tea can be made.
Ritual is about connecting vision and practicality, heaven and earth, samsara and nirvana. When things are properly understood, one’s whole life is like a ritual or a ceremony. Then all the gestures of life are mudra (symbolic hand gestures that accompany tantric practices to establish the quality of different moments of meditation) and all the sounds of life mantra (words or syllables expressing the quintessence of various energies) – sacredness is everywhere. This is what rituals are all about, these formalized things that stick in the religions of different cultures. Ritual, when it comes from the heart, is like a time capsule. It’s as if, thousands of years ago, someone had a clear, unobstructed view of magic, power, and sacredness, and realized that going out every morning and greeting the day in a very stylized way, perhaps with a special chant and offerings, maybe a bow, connected him to that richness. That’s why he taught his children to do this, and the children taught their children, and so on. So, thousands of years later, people are still doing it and connecting with each other with the exact same feeling. All handed down rituals are like that. One can have insight and survive through the ritual instead of being lost. For example, Rinpoche often said that the dharma, the Buddha’s teachings, is like a recipe for freshly baked bread. Thousands of years ago, someone discovered how to bake bread, and because the recipe has been passed down over the years, you can still make fresh bread that you can eat even now.
When things are properly understood, one’s whole life is like a ritual or a ceremony.
What made me think of the ritual as combining the sadness and pain of samsara with the vision of the Great Eastern Sun was that we somehow simply express our appreciation for life through ordinary things. In the morning, the sun rises, we can call into the sanctuary room with the sound of the gong, join hands and bow to each other, hold up our dinner plate with three fingers, as people have been doing for centuries. These rituals are used to express our appreciation for food and objects and the richness of the world.
An honest, heartfelt ritual helps you reconnect with power and vision, as well as the sadness and pain of the human condition. When power and vision collide, it makes some sense to do things right for their own sake. Making a proper cup of tea means that you make the tea thoroughly and completely because you appreciate the tea and the boiling water and that together they make something that is nourishing and delicious that lifts you up. You don’t do it because you’re afraid someone won’t like it if you don’t do it right. You don’t even do it so fast that it’s over before you realize you’ve made one cup of tea, let alone six cups of tea. So whether it’s smoking a cigarette, drinking a cup of tea, making the bed or washing the dishes – whatever it is – it’s ritualistic in the sense that you do it right if you keep the sadness and the vision of the Great Eastern Sun in your heart.
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adapted from The everyday magic of meditation © 2026 edited by John Welwood. Reprinted by arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Inc. Boulder, CO. www.shambhala.com
