"Training in Right Speech"
Jill and I went to sit with the One Dharma group, where Lisa Ernst led a discussion on Right Speech, one component of the 8-fold path of Buddhism. It was a rich discussion, one that was going through my head as I reviewed my day before going to sleep. I was inspired to write down some of the more salient observations I was turning over in my mind, and to share them here.
The gist of Right Speech is to avoid using saying things that are harmful, aggressive or uncompassionate, and thus to avoid causing suffering and damage to individuals, human or otherwise, plus the effects of that radiating out into the environment. The positive aspect of Right Speech includes saying things that are helpful, supportive, kind, and joyful, and which create improvements in the environment.
The question arises: if it is our underlying nature to be peaceful, kind, and useful, and our aspiration is to communicate in ways that do not injure anyone, and to use our speech for beneficial purposes, what is the cause of our tendency to do just the opposite?
There seem to be two causes of improper speech. One is our confusion, springing from obscurations of our basic mind. We each have habits stemming from our conditioning, which result in our blind spots: we are not aware of how our speech comes off, and are bewildered by the results. If we do know that Right Speech is called for and fall short, then it is due to fear; we are protecting ourselves from the costs that speaking rightly may bring.
So all failures in Right Speech are due either to ignorance or cowardice, and both result in the same kind of karma. What can we do to correct this? It is not a simple matter of refraining, as we can do with something like refraining from intoxicants. Often we don’t realize what we are doing, or do not understand the source of our lack of courage.
We can develop skills in Right Speech in two ways. One is from the outside in: we follow rules of thumb. If we never comment about someone when they are not present, we avoid the possibility that we are spreading malicious gossip. There are exceptions to rules, but if we don’t allow exceptions, we won’t make errors. This develops the habit of being mindful of the effects of our speech.
The other way is from the inside out. Through mindfulness meditation, we become more and more familiar with the content of our mind, our habits and heretofore unconscious conditioning. Thus, in time, we better understand our biased point of view, and the conditioned causes of those biases. This not only helps in cases where we engage in wrong speech out of ignorance, but also in cases where we know better but lack the courage.
When we meditate, we become aware of our insecurity. We notice that our true nature is spacious and unconditioned, which gives us a feeling of groundlessness. We want to fill that groundless space with drama and entertainment. Thus, we wrap a boundary around the spaciousness, so we can define "me." My likes, my dislikes, my talents, my quirks, etc.
We sell ourselves on this trumped-up self, and dress it up in our lives. But our prajna, indestructible wisdom, is the still voice within that senses "something fishy" about this self, as Chöygam Trungpa described it. To soothe this gnawing doubt, we buttress this self further, putting things on our walls that reflect it, choose clothes and a car that magnifies it, and perform our style to convince everyone else. Then we are terrified about being found out. Our whole personality is wrong speech!
As we practice, we recognize the things we do to seek ground: we start to see through our self-deception about who we are. We get glimpses of our authenticity, and then see how we trump up a personality that we defend by exaggeration, spin, outright lies, and sometimes inappropriate silence. Mindfulness practice lets us see through our own charade, first with horror, and then with warmth and humor. We cease to be identified with the façade. And no longer being so attached to it, we gain courage.
We can combine both approaches. When we get angry, and want to raise our voice in indignation or aggression, we can "count to ten." This refraining gives the prajna we have developed, but which is still weak and intermittent, a chance to let us see the error we are about to commit. (See, sometimes conventional wisdom is dharmic wisdom!)
A very valuable extension of this one-the-spot refraining practice is to take part in a silent group meditation practice. This is offered on long retreats in retreat centers, but can also be easily arranged for one-day settings at local centers. It is just like group practice but without discussion, without chit-chat, or even the chance to promote our image by speaking words of wisdom. We just sit, walk, and have lunch and tea break, all in silence.
In that silence, just as in the silence on the cushion, we notice our urge to use speech to explain ourselves and enhance the impression we imagine we make on others. We notice when we want to put ourselves a notch above others, or have a judgment about someone else. We notice when we put ourselves below another, which is just another form of confirming our ego: "poor, underachieving me" is still solidifying "me." After a while, judgment drops away, and the difference between "me" and "other" dissolves. In this glimpse of egolessness, space is created for warmth, compassion, and joy to spontaneously emerge.
Without meditation, all we can do is follow rules, and train in concepts of what Right Speech is and isn’t. With mindfulness practice, we spontaneously begin to recognize ways we misuse speech. We notice our choice of dress. How we dress is a form of speech; it communicates a message about who we are and what we are doing. Are dressing pretentiously, overdone with designer outfits and bling? Aggressively, with power suits? Provocatively, with revealing cuts? Deceptively, with… well, you get the picture.
We can start our day with the right speech of dressing appropriately. We could dress sloppily, setting low expectations and giving ourselves permission to be lazy. We could choose something slightly more crisp than we feel, which inspires us to carry ourselves with dignity, and to speak precisely. This is telling the truth about our authentic selves and challenging ourselves to have the courage to speak frankly and compassionately, despite the fears that may tempt us to hide in our comfort zone. This is the beginning of spiritual warriorship. The Tibetans call it raising lungta, or windhorse, creating the conditions that inspire us to the next level of courageous behavior.
