When disagreeable thoughts of others arise,

convert them to those that are amiable.

For our own sake, as well as that of others, we need to replace our offensive mental chatter about others with “Amituofo.” While returning to the Buddha-name, we can seize the opportunity to quickly transform our offensive thoughts into caring ones. The last impressions of the person thus embedded in our store consciousness will be favorable. Accomplishing this, when we next see the individual, the first feelings to bubble up to the surface of our consciousness will hopefully come from those congenial impressions rather than the earlier derogatory ones. Failing to accomplish this, when we next meet, regardless of how the other person acts toward us, our indignation will surge upward and we will resume thinking of—and acting on—those harsh untransformed thoughts. The person may well smile at us, but we will bristle at them. And have spawned yet another enmity. 

Although others may cause us pain,

we can control our suffering

by how we react to our pain.

The Buddha explained suffering as two darts. Pain, the first dart, can be either physical or emotional.  Suffering, the second dart, we inflict on ourselves as we react impulsively to the pain. Let’s say you rush into a room and, in your haste, walk into a chair. A painful first dart. The second dart ensues as you scold yourself for being clumsy and careless; you never learn! At other times, we inflict the second dart when there was no first. For instance, we take a co-worker’s remark the wrong way. Not bothering to check to see if a first dart even existed, we automatically stab ourselves with a second dart of anger or distress. The solution? We cannot always avoid first darts. But we can control the second ones. We create the suffering; we can stop it. As soon as you sense a second dart is poised for striking, recognize it. And drop it for the worthless thing it is.

Do not seek the measure of your actions’ worth

in the eyes of others.

Seek it within yourself.

A long time ago, when the Buddha was in our world, an old woman wished to make an offering to the perfectly enlightened being. But all she had were two coins from her day’s begging. Undeterred, she used them to buy some oil for a lamp. Setting out her offering, she vowed to eliminate the suffering of all beings. After leaving the lamp, exhausted and starving she died. The same night, the king also offered lamps, row upon row of them. The next day, amazingly, not only was one of the lamps still burning, its flame shone even more brightly. When asked how this could be, the Buddha said the lamp was the old woman’s. It continued to burn due to her compassionate vow. The woman had not needed to ask if her meager offering was worthy; she did what she knew to be right. Her gratitude was immeasurable, her own needs inconsequential, her vow unwavering.

Based on previous experiences,

expectations prevent us from opening up

to what may be truly wonderful.

Expectations, by their very nature, bind us to the familiar and to the past. Expectations prevent us from imagining something new and, quite possibly, more rewarding; they color everything we set out to achieve. Upon hearing of the lotuses and ponds in the Western Pure Land, we diminish these by likening them to what we now see every day. Being told of the learning environment, we remember going to school and conclude it’s similar. Reading that we can visit other Buddhas without leaving the Pure Land, we envisage it will be like holding a meeting via the Internet. All these ideas and expectations hold us back! Letting go of expectations, we free ourselves of remembered images and begin feeling—begin sensing—the wonder of things beyond our imagining. And we throw open the door to what is new and truly wondrous.

Letting go is more than

giving away possessions.

It is also relinquishing our

opinions and preferences.

For our best example of letting go, we need only reflect on Prince Siddhartha’s renouncement. Leaving behind his pleasure-filled life, his attachments to personal views, and eventually even his concept of self, he lived as a penniless, wandering seeker—a seeker who attained ultimate liberation. We need to, like the Buddha, stop clinging to personal desires and egoistic opinions. Our attachments constrain us and have trapped us in the cycle of rebirth since time without beginning. By accepting that it is just a matter of time until we must once again leave everything behind, the wisdom in choosing to let go now rather than having everything torn from us later will become blindingly apparent. No longer a trapped sentient being, we will be content with, and appreciative of, all we encounter. And we will do so as a liberated being.