Lately, I’ve been reflecting on what spiritual
resources I have, and the people who have contributed to the development of these
resources. One night, I found myself reminiscing about my experiences learning
from Ajaan Geoff and thought it would be meaningful to put them in writing.
A couple weeks after I arrived in California in 2014
to attend graduate school, I sat in on a “Theory of Meditation” class taught by
a professor, Dr. William Chu. I was skeptical toward any theorization of
meditation, but half an hour into it, I was hooked. The approach to meditation Dr.
Chu introduced gave greater clarity into how to train the mind, and it made
more sense to me than any other approaches I was exposed to. It was more of a
practical guidance in meditation than a theory. In fact, Dr. Chu joked at class
that he had to teach in this theoretical way to follow the tradition of making
ideas complicated in the academia.
Dr. Chu offered the “Meditation Practicum” course in
the following semester, where he explained different aspects of the meditation
method and guided us in practicing one of them at each class. The practice
always left students feeling relaxed and nourished. We were also encouraged to
practice at home and write a short reflection every week. I discovered that
there were many ways to engage the mind and gave up the “dry method” I learned
during a ten-day silent retreat I did before.
Dr. Chu mentioned a forest monastery, about a hundred
miles from the university, as an ideal site to retreat and referred to Ajaan
Geoff as the teacher who showed him that Awakening was still possible in this modern
age. So a couple of fellow students and I decided to check out the monastery.
When I was there, I was surprised that such a peaceful, traditional community
existed in 21st-century America and that the monks all seemed happy
and at ease leading a mostly secluded life. I also liked the fact that there
were many trees and plants at the monastery in the largely barren Southern
California landscape, and that the monastery was surrounded by the mountains.
Ajaan Geoff, the abbot, came out to greet us. I didn’t speak to him, but I
remember his answer to the question asked by the friend who was visiting with
us. The friend asked what he should do now that he found schoolwork was not
very meaningful. Ajaan Geoff responded succinctly that if you have to do it,
you just do it, without mentioning meditation or any specific Buddhist concepts
at all. This down-to-earth attitude left an impression on me, as it cut through
any unnecessary mental fashioning and focused on personal responsibility and
action.
Having a good first impression of Ajaan Geoff as a
person and the kind of life he lived, I started to learn more about him. I read
that he attended Oberlin College partly because he loved classical music. I
liked how, in his Dhamma talks on breath meditation, he often uses different perceptions
to encourage the listeners to become a “connoisseur of the breath”. Ajaan Geoff
was first introduced to meditation when Dr. Donald Swearer, a professor of religion, brought
two monks to Oberlin. Dr.
Swearer later served as director of the Center for the Study of World Religions
at Harvard Divinity School and taught at my university as a visiting professor.
I took his class “Buddhism and Society in Southeast Asia” that focused on the
relationships between the state and religion in Thailand and Burma. I learned
the social and historical background of the tradition Ajaan Geoff practices and
teaches.
For a while, my interest in Buddhism was mainly in
meditation, like many western Buddhist converts. It was because Ajaan Geoff
majored in European Intellectual History in college that I became curious about
what he had to say about Buddhism from an intellectual standpoint. So I began
reading his books. I think the first book I picked up was The Paradox of
Becoming, because as a person with little faith in any spiritual matter, I
needed to first see by logical reasoning to decide whether this path would work.
Of course, the book convinced me to give it a try.
Many people in the Thai Forest Tradition and wider
Buddhist circles consider Ajaan Geoff’s writing to be a little too intellectual
and complicated. I found it to be necessary for him to write in this way to be
effective in reaching readers like me, given that most Buddhist concepts are
very subtle and elusive and that there are many interpretations (or
distortions) in later commentaries. That said, I must admit that I did enjoy
reading that kind of sophisticated writing at that time, as I did like reading
David Tracy’s discussion on Christian theology using music theory for my class
“Use of Sacred Texts in Spiritual Care”.
I never considered such writing as a reflection of the
perspective of writers who wrote mostly from the head instead of the heart. Rather,
when I read writings of Christian theologians and pastors for my chaplaincy
classes, I was often moved by their deep concern for the welfare of the
humanity. In the same way, I sensed Ajaan Geoff’s profound compassion and
strong desire in his books to guide readers in finding a way out of suffering
in his study guides like Beyond Coping (on aging, illness, death, and
separation) and Merit: The Buddha’s Strategies for Happiness and essay
collections Noble Strategy, Purity of Heart, and Beyond All
Directions.
I must mention, however, that it can be difficult to
understand the viewpoint where Ajaan Geoff and even the Buddha speaks from when
reading these books. I didn’t have a solid grasp of Ajaan Geoff’s writing until
I read one of his treatises Skill in Questions, which discussed the
Buddha’s teaching strategies based on the four ways he responded to questions,
and scanned through another, The Wings to Awakening, a thorough
treatment of the factors to awakening.
These readings would still seem dry if I didn’t listen
to the recordings of the Dhamma talks he gives every evening at the monastery.
Available to be played at any point of my day, these dhamma talks served to
shift my consciousness, deepen my understanding of the Dhamma and encourage my
practice. Many of them were quite good in terms of both the content and the
delivery, and a few were significant in my “conversion”.
“The Story behind Impatience” pointed me to the power
of present intention and gave me the freedom to question the narrative I
created out of my life. “The Samsaric Mud Fight” showed me the consequences of
having ill-will towards or holding grudges against anybody. “The Particulars of
Your Suffering” helped me see beyond my own dissatisfaction about life and engage
the possibility for transcendence.
Apart from solitary study, I also attended the yearly
one-day retreat he led in LA and the biweekly book study held at the monastery.
It was such a delight to be in his presence, hearing his teachings with timely
and good-natured humor. It also helped to hear about the experiences and
questions of the audience.
My personal interaction with him was mostly during the
daily Q&A session at the monastery whenever I visited it. I was told that,
in the early years, he would chat with a group of students taking a course from
Spirit Rock in the afternoon, but he had become so much busier with different
teaching responsibilities that students today couldn’t have that luxury.
Nevertheless, the most memorable question I asked was when I blissed out from
doing the breath meditation incorrectly. Ajaan Geoff gave a Dhamma talk that
night later titled “Worker, Observer and Enjoyer” to elaborate on his answer to
my question. I knew of only two traditional roles in meditation, the doer and
the observer, but he added the role of the “enjoyer” to address my issue.
Another memorable question was about parents. He gave
a Dhamma talk later titled “Respect as a Sign of Intelligence”, which removed
some deep-seated pride in me so that I became more open to learning from other
people. It also helped me better connect with my parents.
I had several brief interactions with him about
practical matters around the monastery, and he was always very attentive and
modest. One time, when I volunteered to take out the lights and arrange them around
the meditation hall before evening sitting, I wasn’t sure where two lights on
one side of the hall were kept. He happened to walk up to the hall from his hut
and took out those two lights from underneath a table. He set them up and
gently said to me, “Here you go.”
At the end of the month-long retreat I did at his
monastery, I thanked him for letting me stay and told him that my time there
gave me an idea of what early Buddhist training was about. He had a genuine, childlike
smile on his face when I said that, like he had shared something precious with
me, and I recognized it. It is in moments like this that you know when someone is
watching out for your long-term wellbeing.
That brief exchange was the last time I’ve seen him in
person before I moved to the East Coast. When the pandemic hit, he gave longer
and more exhaustive Dhamma talks, which were uploaded online every day. I
picked up the responsibility of working on the translation of his With Each
and Every Breath: A Guide to Meditation that I started during the retreat
and that became my spiritual nourishment when visiting another Thai Forest
monastery in Virginia was not possible. Through the translation process, I was
able to read his writing more closely and better appreciate his skill and
compassion in teaching people a valuable tool to find lasting happiness.
I don’t see myself moving back to California any time
soon. As the learning in the Thai Forest Tradition relies very much on
in-person interactions, I know that my karmic connection with him will likely not
go much deeper at this point. I wrote this article to reflect on how much
respect and gratitude I have for him for showing me a path that is truly worthwhile.
References:
Being A Monk: A Conversation with Thanissaro Bhikkhu
(Geoffrey DeGraff '71) https://www2.oberlin.edu/alummag/spring2004/feat_monk.html
All the Dhamma talks, books and essays mentioned in this article can all be found at https://www.dhammatalks.org
