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REALMS
slowest point in the samsaric cycle of decelerating elemental patterns. " " There's a great deal of 'spaciness' in which one can become some sort of cosmic 'space-case'. " |
Q Is that a little bit like the fire element would you say? NR In one way yes. All the elements are contained within each of the realms - and like all the elements, the fire element eventually exhausts itself. When the hungry ghost state exhausts itself, you have the opportunity to stay with that space of exhaustion, because exhaustion means that habit stops for a moment. Then at that moment you can either just regenerate the habit or you can remain in that space. So it's important to look at this in terms of opportunity. There are always opportunities for realisation. And these are built into the process of exhaustion and struggle: you struggle for a while until you can't struggle anymore, till you become exhausted, and then there's a space. And you either retract from that space and regenerate the same pattern or you can just rest in that space for long enough to realise there's something else. If you stay in that space what usually happens is you get addicted to your style of relationship with that something else. Because it's preferable to where you were. You needed the space to see it, but having seen it, you don't dance with it but instead you grab it. And that forces a new kind of distorted relationship on you, or you create it from your experience of what is preferable. Q I've lost track of what the 'it' is in there . . . NR 'It' is the possibility of a new kind of relationship with phenomena. In the hot hell it is just terrifying, everything is burning, everything you touch burns you. Not only does it burn you but it's the sense in which you can't stay away from these areas of fire. They seem to be coming toward you, so you seem to have no choice but to fight with them in order to fend them off. So 'it' is how you perceive yourself in relation with the phenomenal world, in terms of your existence and non-existence. 'It' is your relationship with your own reality. 'It' is not just the external world but also your inner reality. 'It' is how you relate with yourself . . . in a sense. 'It' is how you perceive yourself to be, in the context of your entire environment. This is the 'it' . . . and there are six different possibilities of how that relationship works. Q So the thing that you get addicted to is the style of relationship of the realm that you're going toward and that's how you get stuck there? NR Well . . . yes and no. It's either the one you're going toward or the one you've just left - but somehow you can't really see either properly. One is made possible through relaxation, and the other you lose through struggle. Everything exhausts itself . . . and always, at the point of exhaustion, we can either relax or start to struggle again. That may sound mysterious in some way - but you can find that moment every time you meditate. That is actually what meditation is. Q What is exhausted in the god realm? NR The pleasure exhausts itself - in terms of its very even texture. That evenness of texture cannot last forever, because it is antithetical to any kind of roughness or disturbance. And if you then enter into struggle to regain that silky seamless-stocking sensation, you lose it. Trying to regain it automatically puts you back into the jealous god realm. Trying to get there puts you somewhere else. That's important to understand: going for pleasure, or circumstances that you latch onto in terms of experiencing pleasure, is fine. But these circumstances only last for a certain period of time, then they exhaust themselves. If you attach yourself to them when they're dissolving, then that state of mind automatically creates a lower realm of being, a more painful or accelerated aspect of experience. When the hungry ghost realm - this yidag realm - exhausts itself, you have a moment in which you can say: "Yah fine, whatever I eat gets stuck in my throat, whatever I drink burns me, it's all the same - I'm going to stop chasing it and whatever comes along, if it comes along I might look at it a bit longer and well, I won't stuff it down as quickly because I know it's not going to do me any good." Then this is called the animal realm. There's no sense of humour about this realm, really. Because you know it's going to taste horrible whatever it is so that's not very amusing. It's not even ironic - there is no irony in the animal realm. You slow down at the level of textural comparison - you don't really want to know much about your sense fields in terms of esthetics. The sense fields are just there and whatever comes into them comes into them. You respond to what comes into them purely according to volume. There is no space for mixed messages. If you receive mixed messages they just remind you of pain - you become frightened and have to attack. But you're not addicted to that, you can also just lie there. If nothing frightening comes along you don't attack - things are rather black and white. The form of exhaustion that is typical of the animal realm is terminal boredom. There is so little coming out of anything that exhaustion occurs purely because you're not fed by the pain of contrast anymore. Everything tastes the same, so the fear falls away from the idea that everything is going to turn into pain. It becomes possible to distinguish between things: certain things actually do taste better than others, and if you sample them slowly enough you can decide what you're going to spit out. You don't actually have to eat it whatever it is - there are things that are preferable. That's called the human realm. There's some degree of choice in the human realm - and it increases in variety the more it is explored. And with the human realm arises a sense of humour. Q What is the connection between distinguishing taste and sense of humour? NR Sense of humour is basically the ability to juxtapose, so distinguishing is saying, well this is green and that is blue, and you see them together and there's a choice about which one you'd like. Then when you see someone going for the one you don't like, that's immediately amusing in some way. When it's possible to eat lox and bagels and someone's eating porridge, that's really rather funny. Because you can see someone going for what they think is pleasure - it's pleasure for them but not for you. Humour comes out of that disparity. That's an intrinsic irony. Humour comes out of being able to discriminate. Because there's not only you discriminating, there's everybody else discriminating and you're aware that they all know that they can discriminate. Q So this is discriminating awareness . . . NR No, just discrimination. Basic discrimination on the level of: "I like it!", "I don't like it!" In the animal realm you don't really want to be bothered to make some kind of philosophy out of your preferences - that is far too sophisticated. But in the human realm it becomes possible to make philosophy out of discrimination, which then becomes the basis of relating to your world. Then you associate with those who share your philosophy. We communicate and miscommunicate at the same time; and this is where humour comes into the picture. The juxtaposition causes a shift in thought patterns - a momentary disorientation. That's why communication can be very amusing to humans in the human realm. Humour is very useful because it creates a certain sense of space - the more humour the better! We can even laugh at ourselves. I can say: "I just did something really stupid! I fried my cravat along with the tagliatelle." But I have to have the space to see that as funny. It's also a relief, because hey, I don't have to pretend I never do things like that, and these people laughing about my error are not mocking me. They're laughing with me, because they also do things like that. The human realm is the place where we can begin to practise, and where we can realise the non-dual state. There's not too much pain, and not too much even-textured pleasure. If there's too much pleasure, and its silky pervasiveness becomes somehow idyllic - in an almost sickly sweet manner - there's no sense in which we can practise. There's no sharpness; no bitter-sweet; no astringent variation . . . there's no alternation; no pungent whiff of cordite; no visceral poetry . . . We need that in order to practise. Also . . . when there's too much pleasure, there's not enough humour. Humour disappears when things become too easy and uniform in their tranquil mellowness. This is why a lot of humour comes out of unpleasant conditions - there's irony there. Humour is a natural part of establishing constructs. When we work with constructs, we get let down by them. Then we create more sophisticated constructs because we realise that the previous construct had flaws. The previous construct was too simple - it didn't work very well. We have to make our constructs more sophisticated in order to get the pleasure we want. So we think: 'Ah, it's not as simple as just having a relationship with a man or woman; I have to be more specific than that. They have to be even-tempered.' So we find someone without a bad temper but then discover that they're depressed. So we think: 'Right . . . they've got to be both even-tempered and cheerful. That's the answer!' And then we find they've got some other problem. They're even-tempered and cheerful, but they don't like our tastes in music, furniture and decor. So we think: 'Right . . .' And so it goes on. We have to specify more and more exactly what it is that's going to give us pleasure. We create more and more sophisticated concepts for how to make life work. In the human realm we really feel that it is possible to make it work. But the human realm also exhausts itself. The exhaustion arises out of the sense of success. We discover that we can make life work pretty well - then we can begin to get a little tricky. We stop working so hard, but we begin to strategise and theorise about the long-term prospects of the truly impossible dream. We're aware that there are people who really have done this. They've really worked the number out very well, and we can't quite understand how. It would seem that they've just totally given up and yet they got to the god realm by giving up . . . But that seems utterly implausible; because when we try to give up - nothing happens. The god realm doesn't happen. The Cadillac doesn't pull up and take us off to the private jet; the bank account is not unlimited. So we have to work out a policy of pretending to give up, whilst engaging in a lot of highly furtive manoeuvring. And it becomes very tricky. The gods seem to be saying: "Well . . . in order to be successful, just be yourself. That's what I did." And we say: "Is that really what you did? You were just yourself and everybody loved you? They gave you all this money? They bought your book? They bought the film rights? And all you did was be yourself? You didn't try?" So we're looking at the god realm - we have a view of the god realm - but we don't quite understand how the gods got there. This gives rise to a sense of very deep suspicion about everything - that something very, very subtle has to happen for us to move from 'here' to 'there', and no matter how carefully we examine the situation, we can never get any closer. The god realm is always a thousandth of an inch beyond the dimension of all our constructs . . . Q So we'd be suspicious about our pleasure too? NR Yes. Because everyone's telling us to relax: "Hey . . . just relax, kid . . . it'll be all right." And we think: 'Damn! If I relax it's going to be terrible!' But we see that they're so relaxed . . . How can we get to that relaxed place by relaxing; there must be some other way of doing it than by relaxing - because when we relax, we just miss opportunities! We can't quite believe that relaxation works that way. There's this kind of paranoia that comes in with the jealous god realm, because we think there must be some very special trick to the god realm. So we spend a lot of time furiously analysing everything. We look at the god realm from outside wondering how to get in there. Exhaustion is merely realising that we can't get in there. And, what is more, there's no purpose at all in trying to get in there. Then - to our surprise - there we are. Getting there is achieved simply by giving up trying to get there. When we give up struggling we find that everything is, actually, delightful . . .
But it's still in the realm of duality, because 'I' had to give up on
getting 'there'. The god realm is the slowest point in the samsaric
cycle of decelerating elemental patterns. This is almost complete and
utter deceleration; which is why the god realm is so protracted. You
just remain there with everyone agreeing with you . . . because
you're so fantastically wise, so fantastically untouched by anything.
Nothing you do seems to rebound in an unpleasant way . . . You've
watched yourself achieve enlightenment. You have followers,
devotees, and they all think you're wonderful. They think you're
wonderful, because you know that you're wonderful. You know
you're wonderful because everyone around you says: "Hey, you're
wonderful!" And you say: "Gee thanks. Well . . . I always knew that
- but charming of you to notice, I'm sure." You say wonderful things
to people, and they say: "That was wonderful!" And you say: "Yes, of
course, that's because you are wonderful too, if only you could see it
as I see it. Everything is wonderful!" They think that's very, very
wonderful, and they say: "That's really the most wonderful truth
we've ever heard!" And you say: "Yes, the wonder of everything is
reflected in me because I see that I am no different from this
wonderfulness." Then they say . . . [Rinpoche yawns in a deliberate
manner] NR No [yawns] because everything's wonderful. Q There's a danger there though, isn't there? NR Oh yes [laughs] a very wonderful danger! It exhausts itself because you get totally intoxicated with how wonderful you are, with how wonderful everything is. What happens in the traditional god realm analogies is that one day you start to smell a trifle ripe. When that happens, the other gods start looking at you and saying: "Phew . . . your celestial deodorant is wearing thin." They really don't like that, because if they associate with you they might start to smell too. The other gods start shunning you. Your devotees leave in droves, and suddenly - instantly - you're in the jealous god realm again. Then you struggle to get back, not realising that struggling is what characterises the jealous god realm. Q If you'd had the realisation to say: "So I smell - fine, that's wonderful, this smell is great, everything has the same taste . . ." NR Then you would be a yogi or yogini, rather than a god realm bliss kid. But you're not actually realised so there is the very strong possibility of things not being wonderful. You bathe in everything becoming more and more wonderful, and that can begin to seem as if you've attained enlightenment . . . But then there's impermanence . . . and things aren't so wonderful anymore. They could even start looking terrible. You create a cocoon out of your own sense of 'realisation'. You take your own wisdom seriously and you have this feeling that you deserve all this, whatever this is, that you are as wonderful as everyone says you are. You believe it. And because you believe it, you reflect it outwards. You look more wonderful because you've accepted your own wonderfulness. And everything is nice and perfect and flowing and nothing is ever . . . rough or hard or spiky. Q So in all the realms, there's this energy that is subject to entropy, dissolution, like all of a sudden you're a god and then there's something where you begin to dissolve and there's an odour that's almost self-arising in itself . . . NR It has to be. It's within every level of the samsaric dimension of experience. Samsara is entirely based on projection, and all projection has a finite duration. You see, the feeling of being wonderful comes from the fact that we project it outward onto everything else. Once we do that, it's projected back to us, and we relate to it as if this 'wonderfulness' or seemingly perfect pleasure was the ground of being. So if people stop regarding us as wonderful, we start to feel some slight doubt about our wonderfulness . . . Q So in the god realm there's still karma? NR It's a realm of samsara, so there's always karma. Q And chance? NR Sure. There is always chance. Karma is form, and chance or chaos is emptiness. If there were no chance . . . there'd be no emptiness. If there were no chance, then karma would mean predestination. If karma were predestination then enlightenment would have to be the result of karma. If that were true then there would be no purpose in practice. So . . . you can create a seemingly ideal situation and you can be seemingly ideal within that seemingly ideal situation but it doesn't last forever . . . nothing does. Only emptiness is forever [laughs]. But then there's form, and if form is not emptiness, then the six realms start all over again. Q What would happen if you took the attitude that you were going to play things as they came along rather than grasping - playing. Would that just be another form . . .? NR Yes . . . but when you do that you can seem to succeed. Life becomes better and you move into the god realm and then you begin to take 'yourself' seriously. Q So you couldn't play with the god realm . . . NR No. The only way you can play is from the realised state. You see, when you begin to relax . . . when you just deal with everything as it comes along . . . the process of karmic deceleration simply follows from that. Then, as you move to higher realms, you gain some sort of very amorphous wisdom. You create fewer negative situations. But your 'wisdom' still exists in duality. There's a concept of who it is that has becomes enlightened: 'I' have become enlightened! The god realm is defining yourself according to the outside world, which temporarily reflects your sense of 'enlightenment'. I become 'God' in a sense, the creator of the universe, because everything is a reflection of 'Me'. So instead of being responsive to everything, which means I'm not central - 'I' become central. Wherever 'I' look it's Me. And everything is perfect, until it stops being perfect. It's the closest you can come to enlightenment without being enlightened. The god realm is when 'I' become enlightened. You say: "I am now enlightened and here 'I' am observing 'Myself' in the whole universe out there . . ." It becomes My creation, because My relationship with every aspect of it is Me. But it's not particularly interactive because everything comes to Me, everything supplicates Me, everything worships Me from all angles [laughs]. That becomes a really big problem . . . because there's no sense of humour. If there was any sense of humour it would be too utterly boring to endure. Q In what way is everything perfect, if it's not perfect? NR Because beings appear to experience suffering. But from the god realm you see beings experiencing suffering and you just smile a trifle wistfully, and say: "Ah, the world of illusion . . . How perfect that whatever is happening, is simply happening." Q What's the difference between this attitude and: 'Whatever happens - may it happen', one of the Three Terrible Oaths that are spoken of in the Dzogchen tradition? NR 'Whatever happens - may it happen'. When you say: "Ah, the world of illusion . . . How perfect that whatever is happening, is simply happening" - you're saying: "Whatever happens - may it happen - out there in My universe where nothing effects Me." I think that is the big difference. In the god realm you would really be saying: "Whatever appears to be happening - may it continue to appear to happen, because illusory suffering and illusory bliss are all the dream of Brahma." Q So in the god realm there's very little space for compassion because there's very little space . . . or there's too much space? NR Both. There is space, because there is always space. But in the god realm, space is not really experienced as space - but as an expanded sense of the extensiveness of Me. The neurotic claustrophobia of samsara has become vastly attenuated . . . There's a great deal of 'spaciness' in which one can become some sort of cosmic 'space-case'. This is not creative space; rather, it's the space of self-orientation. It's the space of relaxed yet almost unbounded self-obsession. Q In what way can that be space? It sounds like some sort of enclosure. NR Sure. It's some kind of enclosure. It's just a very, very large enclosure. The enclosure has become so large that it feels infinite. You simply can't see the horizons anymore. You can travel around in this space almost endlessly. You can view everything within it. Q So where is the problem? NR Well . . . as 'God' . . . you're always coming from the central headquarters of your own realisation of being 'God'. You eventually realise that you can't control space. It just takes a long time for that to become apparent. As 'God' you cannot relate to space outside the concept of it being 'My realisation' or 'My enlightenment'. Being 'God-realised' is referred to as being the subtlest of all delusions. If you become 'God-realised' then everything becomes 'God', and then of course . . . everything becomes you. Until . . . you realise it isn't you. And later . . . you realise that you aren't even you. Then you start getting worried . . . [laughs] Q How do the six realms relate to the elements? Trungpa Rinpoche identifies the realms with the elements, but there are five elements and six realms . . . How does that work out? NR The realms do have qualities of the elements but you can't divide them exactly into the elements. There are realms where certain elements predominate, but each realm contains all five elements. The five elements perform their cyclic patterns in each realm. The difference between the realms is more a question of the speed at which the elemental patterns cycle. When I talk about the cyclic pattern of the fire element - there's an object of desire. You go after it. You grab at it. You pull it towards you . . . And then it disappears because 'I' own it - it has becomes 'me' through becoming 'mine'. That obviously doesn't happen immediately - it takes a period of time, and that period of time differs according to the realm. For the psychologically average individual - if you see something you like, you go out and buy it. Then you enjoy it for a while. Then gradually the novelty wears off. But in the hungry ghost realm you see it, you go for it, and vvvvvvp! immediately it changes into a source of pain and disappointment. The cycle speeds up. That is a quality of the fire element operating in the human realm and in the hungry ghost realm. Then there's the hell realm, which manifests more of the water element of anger. In the human realm anger manifests in this kind of way: someone makes me angry. They make me so angry that I get into a fight. It may turn out to be grievous bodily assault, but the police won't get me immediately. Maybe it takes a while for due process of law to take place. But in the hell realm you lash out and hurt yourself immediately! Then you lash out again as a way of getting over the pain - but in doing so you hurt yourself again! With the hell realm the pain escalates until the only reality you know is intensity. So you create greater, and greater, and greater intensity. In comparison, the god realm is incredibly diffused. You never laugh in the god realm. You never cry in the god realm. You just grin - very, very, softly. And there's New Age music playing . . . But let's get back to hell. There's the hell of the locked ward, where you're in a strait-jacket to stop yourself damaging yourself. That's obviously an extreme state, and maybe most people won't be able to relate to that personally. But there's also the hell of having an argument with somebody you love - where you cause yourselves more and more pain through hurting each other in order to be happy . . . That's also hell. But we're not locked into these hell states all the time. We pass through them . . . they exhaust themselves, and maybe we get some sense of space. Then we're happy again because we've been distracted from the claustrophobic intensity of our patterning. We pass through the six realms minute by minute - hour by hour - day by day . . . We continually cycle through the processes of relaxation and struggle. If we recognise these patterns as they arise, we can begin to develop some degree of suspicion about them. If we can entertain the discomfort of this suspicion - there's immediately some sense of space there. Q How can we stay in the human realm and avoid either falling into the intensity of lower realms or floating into the sort of blissed-out disconnection of the god realm? NR We stay in the human realm by allowing ourselves to be touched by the pain of others . . . and by not becoming too spiritual so that we lose the ability to laugh. Hot-blooded kindness is what roots us in this precious human rebirth.
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