Alana's Dharma Blog

As part of my efforts to stave-off an autoimmune disease, my rheumatologist had recommended a regular program of 5 day fasts to help renew and regenerate immune system function. The fasts allow for a small amount of pre-allocated food – around 600 calories a day of bars and powdered soup – enough to make unsupervised fasting safe, but certainly not enough to feel close to full. On a recent fast, I woke up on day 4, out of 5, and simply didn’t want to get out of bed; all I had to look forward to was another day of hunger. On this fast, I find myself rationing food, licking the last bit out of every container of what meager crumbs I am given. Flash dried soups and rancid nut bars that in any other circumstance would be torture are my cravings and delights. I just can’t wait for the fast to end, a few more days and I’ll be in heaven, free to eat as I may.  That is the thing that keeps me going, taking satisfaction in the thing that comes next. Or, the imagination of that satisfaction anyway…

This week, the power went out for 2 days after a storm. It was such a pain in the ass, no lights, no TV, no computer, starving in the dark, carefully rationing the phone lest we be out of battery in an emergency. About a day and a half into the blackout the lights flickered on, for just a minute. Eric and I were in the middle of a little-happy-dance-we-have-power-again, when suddenly everything went back to blackout. We bitched and moaned about the inconvenience; we were so excited when the power company posted a schedule to get the lights back on. When they did finally come back, it was a moment of relief and then back to life as normal. That and the fear that tomorrow’s storm could bring a whole new set of outages.

The truth is when I have ‘the basics’ — food and power — I don’t really relish these things, they aren’t the cause of celebration or deep satisfaction, they are just there. Only in their absence do they become the fodder of hopes and dreams. Obviously, power is a significant convenience, and food a basic need, I don’t deny the value in having these things. But the idea that they bring satisfaction, beyond their temporary fulfillment of physical needs, is undermined by a basic truth: That satisfaction arises from a former state of deprivation. 

Satisfaction, happiness, Sukkah – the great goal of my life – doesn’t exist in a vacuum, it requires states of not having, of longing, of dukkah. I have to feel hunger to feel satisfied by eating. I have to deal with darkness to be dazzled by lights.

What is more, is that the satisfaction doesn’t last. This is my second fast: A day or two of normal eating after the last fast and basic food like an apple or oatmeal felt like a given, something I take for granted, it was no longer an orgasm in my mouth the way it had been when I broke that fast. To get excited, I needed the promise of more, something fancier or novel, a special dinner out, an exotic ingredient imported from Japan or Italy, or some other land far away.

In fact, if I am being honest, the greatest joy came in anticipation of my first post fast meal, not from the meal itself: The smell of the fruit as it was sliced, the tantalizing twirl of the blender blade, as it whipped-up my post-fast smoothie. Even that first sip didn’t taste as good as I imagined it would, as the smoothie of my mind; by 4 or 5 sips I was already full, the elation I had dreamed about as a reward for 5 days of self-imposed deprivation come and went in an instant. But while the satisfaction was fleeting, what remained was the dread of next month’s  fast. Dread of the next storm’s potential power outage. Which brings me to truth number two: The satisfaction that arises from states of deprivation may be fleeting, but the fear of loss, of repeat suffering, that arises from deprivation, that manages to endure.

The goal of my life, the thing I plot and plan and prepare for, that I hoard possessions and qualities, people and skills for, the dazzling future I cling to hope for, basically boils down to a “happy life”, a good life, a life where I am free of excessive suffering and satisfaction is bountiful. Details of exactly what this looks like may change, but the essence is the same. Each becoming, each birth, is a refinement, a chance for a different path, a different ending, when I can finally get what I want. The problem is, what I want is inextricably bound to what I don’t want. The satisfaction of fullness exists hand-in-hand with hunger.

I blindly strive for satisfaction and I don’t even notice where it really comes from – deprivation. Or where it leads to – fear and loss.

A long time ago, LP Anan and Mae Yo read me a quote from the Buddha. It hit me so hard, it burrowed into my brain, the meaning crisp and clear, but the words morphed into “Alana speak”. It went something like this:

If I, the Great Dhamma Lord (i.e. the most-awesome-crazy-badass-ninja-ever), could separate sukkha from dukkha, I would have used my powers and merit to do so and gone right on merrily living in this world. But because, I could not separate sukkha from dukkah I returned sukkha to its rightful owner –dukkha — and peaced-out.

The question for you Alana is this: If even the Buddha could not separate suffering and satisfaction, what hope exactly do you keep clinging to?

Many of you Dear Readers have perhaps already read my big ‘ah-ha moment’ blogs on everything is dukkha. These were so powerful and poignant, that I skipped ahead and published them real time. But, of course, there is a back story, a progression, a series of contemplations that brought me to that big ah-ha moment and in this next chapter of my blog I will share the trail of thoughts that got me there.

During my long lockdown, I had been reading one of LP Thoon’s sermons and it stressed the importance of understanding causality. In particular, it talked about needing to identify the cause of our suffering. For several weeks the idea had preoccupied me and, amidst the stress of my many medical surprises, I had begun to fixate more on identifying and tracing the causes of my suffering. As a result, around the summer of 2021, dukka had again become a dominate theme/ focal point of my practice.

Then, in October 2021, Mae Neecha asked for my help editing LP Thoon’s autobiography and I was left hanging on his repeated statement that everything was suffering. In truth, I had heard this before, from LP Thoon, from Phra Arjan Dang, from Mae Yo and Mae Neecha. I had heard it, but I suddenly realized that in my heart of hearts, I didn’t believe it. Even in the face of the dukkha I experienced during Covid, the dukkha I was experiencing from my own medical scares, I still held the view that dukka was half the picture: Dukka was part of our experience of the world, but there was also sukkha (happiness).  I mean there had to be right? I feel happiness, its the other side of the dukka coin, it seemed logical — experiential — and yet here are all these teachers I trust and respect telling another story. I decided it was worth exploring whether or not I could find truth in the assertion that everything is dukka, and I set myself to the slow task of gathering daily evidence to see what my own inspection of the topic uncovered.

The blogs of this chapter capture my thoughts along the way, and a reprisal, in context, of my final ah-ha that everything in this world must indeed be suffering.