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Awake in the World
on practice
Dana: The Practice of Giving
Dana (pronounced “DAH-nuh”), noun. Sanskrit, Pali, roughly “gift, alms, donation”; voluntary giving of materials, energy, or wisdom (dharma) to others; generosity; regarded as one of the most important Buddhist virtues. Simple acts of giving—whether material, emotional, or spiritual—are often riddled with ambivalence arising from craving and attachment. This section provides suggestions for our most common dana dilemmas and poses questions to help you determine where you are on the path to true generosity.
The Wisdom of Giving: Q & A with Andrew Olendzki
What is dana? Why do we practice it? What is the “right” way to give? What are some benefits of and obstacles to giving? Dana (“giving”) is the most fundamental of all Buddhist practices. It is the first topic in the Buddha’s graduated talks, the first step on the bodhisattva’s path to perfection, and the first of the ten paramitas (perfections) in the Mahayana tradition. It therefore sets the tone for all that follows in the spiritual journey.
The act of giving purifies intention, the quality of mind with which any action is undertaken. For a brief moment, the giver’s self-absorption is lifted, attachment to the gift is relinquished, and kindness towards the recipient is developed. All actions—of thought, word, and deed—undertaken for the sake of others rather than for one’s own selfish purposes become transformed by the power of generosity.
Giving needs to be practiced and developed because our underlying tendency toward attachment, aversion, and confusion so often interferes with a truly selfless act of generosity. Consummate observer of human nature that he was, the Buddha pointed out the many ways we can give with mixed motives: we give out of fear, or in accordance with tradition; we give with the expectation of return; we give in hope of gain, or a favorable reputation or rebirth; we give to adorn our mind, or simply because giving brings joy.
All generosity is valuable. When asked by King Pasenadi of Koshala, “To whom should a gift be given?” the Buddha replied, “To whomever it pleases your mind.”
All schools of Buddhism recognize that giving brings the most benefit when coupled with wisdom. In the Mahayana tradition, this means recognizing the inherent emptiness of any true distinction between giver and recipient. In the earlier schools, less attention is paid to the metaphysics of giving and more to its psychology, focusing upon the intention of the giver, the nature of the gift, and the worthiness of the recipient.
An act of giving is of most benefit when one gives something of value, carefully, with one’s own hand, while showing respect, and with a view that something wholesome will come of it. The same is true when one gives out of faith, respectfully, at the right time, with a generous heart, and without causing denigration. Under such circumstances, according to the Buddha, “before giving, the mind of the giver is happy; while giving, the mind of the giver is made peaceful; and having given, the mind of the giver is uplifted.” One who is accomplished in dana is said to “dwell at home with a mind free from the stain of stinginess, freely generous, open-handed, delighting in relinquishment, devoted to charity, delighting in giving and sharing.”
The nature of the gift itself is less important, and is adapted to suit various populations. It is appropriate for people of means to give freely to those in need, for lay people generally to give the basic requisites of a simple life to monks and nuns, and for all people to give less tangible - but much more valuable - gifts to one another at every opportunity.
One of the most important acts of generosity involves Buddhism’s five precepts. By giving up killing, stealing, false speech, sexual misconduct, and intoxicants, one “gives to immeasurable beings freedom from fear, hostility, and oppression.” And the highest gift of all is the gift of dharma—by teaching (if qualified) or by facilitating the teaching of others.
In a profoundly interdependent world, generosity is fundamental to the entire economy of life. Even the simplest biological function involves receiving something from others (nutrients, oxygen, life), processing it in some unique way, and then passing it on to all other members of the matrix of life. We all do this whether we want to or not, and whether or not we are aware of it. The practice of giving becomes perfected when we align ourselves very deeply with this truth, by consciously and mindfully offering everything we do or say—even everything we think—as an act of universal generosity.
Andrew Olendzki, Ph.D., is the executive director of the Barre Center for Buddhist Studies, in Barre, Massachusetts, and is editor of the Insight Journal.
References from the Pali: A8:31-3; S3:3.4; M110:23; A5:148; A6:37; A4:61; A8:39
Image: Illustrations of the alms bowls by Thai artist Montien Boonma (1953-2000), from his exhibit "Temple of the Mind," on view at the Asia Society Gallery in New York City through May 11, 2003, as part of The Buddhism Project (www.buddhismproject.org). © Montien Boonma, Courtesy of The Asia Society, New York
The Prince and the Elephant: The Vessantara Jataka Tale
The Jataka Tales comprise a collection of 550 stories recounting the previous incarnations of the Buddha. Together, the tales illustrate the perfection of virtues on the path to enlightenment.
This painting depicts a portion of the story of the Buddha’s final incarnation. In this tale the Buddha is born as Prince Vessantara, renowned for his generosity. On the day of his birth, an auspicious white elephant is also born, and is given to the newborn as a childhood companion. Years later, a delegation of Brahmins arrives from a neighboring kingdom and explains that their citizens are suffering from famine and drought. They beseech the eminently generous prince to donate his white elephant, believing it will help allay their suffering. Vessantara gladly assents, and pours water over his guests’ hands to signify that he does not expect repayment.
Vessantara performs acts of ever-greater generosity, eventually relinquishing even his children. His generosity is ultimately tested, however, when a god descends and asks Vessantara for his wife as a servant [depicted in the painting]. When Vessantara complies, the gods bestow blessings upon the prince, and he is reunited with his wife and children.
The Gift That Cannot Be Given: Q & A with Marcia Rose
Can you suggest any ways to develop my dana practice? The Buddha taught: "If you knew as I know the benefit of generosity, you would not let an opportunity go by without sharing." The Buddha taught and lived what is really a "way of life": giving and receiving the practice of dana. The cultivation of dana offers the possibility of purifying and transforming greed, clinging, and self-centeredness, as well as the fear that is linked to these energies of attachment. Dana practice is the foundation of Buddhist spiritual development. Generosity is the ground of compassion; it is a prerequisite to the realization of liberation.
The Tibetans have a practice to cultivate generosity. They take an ordinary everyday object such as a potato or a turnip, and hold it in one hand and pass it to the other hand, back and forth, until it becomes easy. They then move on to objects of seemingly greater value, such as a mound of precious jewels or rice. This “giving” from hand to hand ultimately becomes a symbolic relinquishment of everything—our outer material attachments and our inner attachments of habits, preferences, ideas, beliefs—a symbolic “letting go” of all the ways that we create a “self” over and over again. In our Vipassana practice, this is really what we are doing, but without the props. We learn to give and to receive, letting go of control, receiving what is given—receiving each moment of our lives just as it is, with the trust that it is just right, just enough for our spiritual growth to unfold from.
As our dana practice deepens, we begin to know more directly the ephemeral nature of all things. What can we really possess, after all? Our realization that there is actually nothing that can be held on to can become a powerful factor in cultivating our inner wealth of generosity, which is a wealth that can never be depleted, a gift that can forever be given, a seamless circle that feeds itself. As the Buddha tells us, “The greatest gift is the act of giving itself.”
The Buddha taught “kingly or queenly giving,” which means giving the best of what we have, instinctively and graciously, even if none remains for ourselves. We are only temporary caretakers of all that is provided; essentially, we own nothing. As this understanding takes root in us, there is no getting, possessing, and giving; there is just the spaciousness that allows all things to remain in the natural flow of life.
Someone once asked Gandhi, “Why do you give so much? Why do you serve all these people?” Surprisingly, Gandhi answered, “I don’t give to anyone. I do it all for myself.” The aim and the fruit of our dana practice is twofold: we give to help and free others, and we give to help and free ourselves.
Here are some questions we can ask ourselves to help determine if we are giving and receiving with mindfulness:
• What is happening in my body when I give?
• What is happening in my mind?
• Is there a sense of ease, openness, and nonsentimental lovingkindness and compassion in my heart, body, and mind?
• Is there a feeling of depletion, weakness, fear, anger, or confusion—a contraction of my heart, body, and mind?
• Can I go beneath my stories, ideals, and beliefs about how I want the exchange to be or not to be, or how I believe it is “supposed to be” or “not supposed to be”?
• Can I mindfully recognize when I am caught in stories, beliefs, or wishful or aversive thoughts in relation to generosity?
Mindful attention can also help us to know more clearly how much to give in particular situations—or whether or not it’s appropriate to give at all. Here are some questions to consider:
• Am I giving beyond what is appropriate, or giving beyond what may be healthy for myself emotionally and/or physically?
• Are my heart, body, and mind relaxed, open, and joyful when I feel I’ve given “just enough,” or do I experience anguish and contraction of the heart, body, and mind in giving “too much”?
• Am I aware of when the most generous act might be to step back and simply let people take care of themselves, to let go and allow a particular situation to “just be” and work itself out?
Using these questions as guidelines, we can begin to understand the “middle way” of the Buddha’s teaching of dana. Mindfulness is what allows insight to arise in a perfectly natural way and what allows us, in turn, to let go—to recognize ourselves as aspects of the natural flow of life, and in this recognition to give and receive effortlessly in healthy and wise ways.
Marcia Rose is the founding and guiding teacher of Taos Mountain Sangha Meditation Center and the Mountain Hermitage, both in Taos, New Mexico. She also teaches in Barre, Massachusetts, at the Insight Meditation Society and the Forest Refuge.
Three Grapefruits: One Small Act of Giving Can Have Enormous Repercussions in an Interconnected World
A few days before my family and I were leaving Japan in 1968 after a six-year sojourn, my friend from California came to visit and gave us three grapefruits from a carton that he had brought with him. Because of import restrictions, fruits from abroad, such as grapefruits, melons, and grapes, were a rarity and hence ridiculously expensive. A single grapefruit, for example, would cost several thousand yen, equivalent to twenty dollars at the exchange rate at that time. People bought these exotic, imported fruits primarily to give away as gifts on special occasions.
Since we were returning to California shortly, where grapefruits are in abundance, we decided to give away the three grapefruits. It so happened to be the day that my wife went to her weekly flower-arranging class, so she gave the grapefruits to her teacher. We thought nothing about it, but a couple of days later we received a special delivery letter from the teacher. Written with a brush on traditional Japanese paper and folded carefully, the letter had to be something special. People today use ballpoint pens to dash off missives.
The teacher’s letter began with very formal words about the weather, then she expressed appreciation for the three grapefruits. She wrote that she shared the first grapefruit with her grandchildren, who were thrilled with the fragrance and taste of an exotic fruit that they had never seen before. The second grapefruit she peeled and ate together with an old friend whom she hadn’t seen for over twenty years, making the reunion a very special event. The third grapefruit she took to a hospital, where her best friend was dying of a terminal illness. She hadn’t eaten for more than a week, but when she saw the grapefruit she wanted to try tasting just a little piece. When she finished the first morsel, she asked for one, then another one, until she ate half the grapefruit. The family members watching all this were in tears, happy that their loved one was enjoying something to eat.
The teacher thanked us profusely from the bottom of her heart for the three grapefruits. My first reaction on reading the letter was, “Thank the grapefruits!” But I also reflected on what Hua-yen Buddhism [a school of Chinese Buddhism based on the Flower Garland Sutra] says about a small act of giving that has repercussions in an interdependent and interconnected world. According to this tradition, one small act of charity (dana paramita) is said to be equal to countless acts of charity. No one can measure the effects of a single act of giving, for its repercussions are beyond our limited imagination.
The grandchildren will always remember the sweet aroma and taste of their first grapefruit, overlapping with the loving image of their grandmother, even after she is long gone. The two women’s reminiscence about the past was made all the more memorable with each bite of grapefruit, the good feeling emanating and embracing those around them. The dying friend will live forever in the hearts and minds of her loved ones as she enjoyed each morsel of grapefruit. The letter from the flower-arranging teacher reminds me of the possible relevance of Hua-yen Buddhism for the contemporary world.
In reflecting on dana paramita, however, I am reminded that it requires “three kinds of purity.” That is, according to Buddhism, true giving involves the awareness that there is no giver, no gift, and no receiver. Attachments of any kind—whether it be to self as the benefactor, the value of the gift, or the acknowledgment by the receiver—nullify the pure act of giving. In our case we had no attachments, not because we were selfless but simply because we didn’t pay for the grapefruits and merely passed them on to the teacher. This might be considered true giving, but it was a fortuitous act and had nothing to do with dana paramita as an act of selfless giving, free of self-interest, which leads to the other shore of enlightenment.
In fact, the true act of dana paramita involves giving up what we cherish the most—ultimately our ego self. I know a school teacher who encourages the practice of dana in children by setting an example. Once, he took his students to give fruits to the homeless. In doing so, he purchased the most expensive fruits at the grocery store. When one mother complained that the homeless did not deserve such extravagance, he explained two important things about true giving. First, it requires some sacrifice on the part of the giver. To give away something that one doesn’t need is not dana. Second, the act must not be condescending but must show respect to the one who receives the gift. In fact, one is grateful to the recipient who makes the act of giving possible.
Although dana paramita in the true sense is our goal, it is not easy to actually practice it. But, as in the case of our three grapefruits, even if giving does not come from our hearts, we want to return something to the world. When such a practice is repeated as often as possible, we may come to realize that just to be alive is a gift, a gift made possible by countless good causes and conditions. Whether we know it or not, every act of compassion, real or simulated, may have a positive significance far beyond our powers of imagination.
Now retired, Taitetsu Unno is the Jill Ker Conway professor emeritus of religion at Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts, where he lives. He giver lectures worldwide on Japanese Buddhism, religion, and culture. Excerpted from Shin Buddhism: Bits of Rubble Turn Into Gold, © 2002 by Taitetsu Unno. Reprinted with permission of Doubleday, a division of Random House, Inc.
Image: © Montien Boonma, Courtesy of Asia Society, New York
Dana Worksheet
Here are some questions to help you develop your practice of dana. Your answers will suggest what you might like to change—and what you might like to keep the same—about how you give and receive. Answer these questions now, and again in a month or two, and see how your responses differ. Then pick a few key areas on which to focus your practice.
• In what ways have you given over the past few months, and to whom?
• What do you find easiest or most enjoyable to give?
• What is most difficult for you to give?
• To whom is it easiest or most enjoyable for you to give?
• To whom is it most difficult for you to give?
• From whom is it easiest for you to receive?
• From whom is it most difficult for you to receive?
• To whom are you able to give with no expectation of return or thanks?
• From whom do you feel you can receive without an expectation of return or thanks?
• Do you ever presume selfish motivations in people who give to you?
• Do you ever feel indebtedness to people who give to you? Which people, and why?
• Do you ever feel resentment at being asked to give? To whom, and why?
• Do you have trouble figuring out what is the appropriate amount to give—either emotionally or materially?
• Do you have any past experiences that might affect the way you give and receive today?
• Have you encountered situations where you’ve had the opportunity to give, but have held back? Why?
• Have you encountered situations where you feel you’ve given too much, or too little?
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Giving Full Circle
Robert Aitken Roshi offers a meditation on the ideal of circular giving, founded in an ancient Hawai'ian land-sharing custom.
The Sanskrit word dana is often translated as “alms.” One of the paramitas, or “perfections,” on the Bodhisattva path, dana is traditionally understood as the full circle of giving, from lay supporters to the ordained sangha, in the form of material support, and back again to the laity, in the form of dharma teachings.
Dana is the practice of pratitya samutpada, mutually dependent arising. Everything is contingent upon everything else. Plants transpire, the moisture evaporates and returns as rain. The earth is dampened, allowing rootlets to absorb nutrients in the soil. The nutrients themselves are released by worms that eat the earth, and by the casts of countless other beings as they give themselves in death. People, animals, and other plants flourish, and give themselves in turn. The Buddha suggested that human beings can get along best by following this natural way of things. Giving creates happiness; greed creates misery.
The circle of giving can be found in the stories of people everywhere. In Hawai'i , where I live, the land was traditionally divided by the ahupua'a, a pie-shaped parcel extending from a point in the mountains down the tops of two ridges bounding a valley to the sea. Some people foraged for herbs and harvested timber for house and canoe construction in the highest elevations, others grew taro and vegetables lower down, and still others fished in the sea. They gave the products of their labor to their neighbors, and everyone—foresters, farmers, and fisherman—had what they needed to live creative lives. How do we make such stories on our own?
Robert Aitken Roshi is a retired Zen master and cofounder of the Diamond Sangha as well as the Buddhist Peace Fellowship.
Image: © Montien Boonma, Courtesy of Asia Society, New York
The Power of Receiving: Q & A with Judy Lief
When I am given something, I sometimes feel indebtedness, which makes me uncomfortable. What is this discomfort in receiving? Is there a way to receive with grace and generosity? The practice of true generosity is rare; it is an exchange in which both giver and receiver are enriched. In the Tibetan tradition, the custom of exchanging ceremonial scarves, or khatas, perfectly evokes this spirit of giving and receiving freely. When you offer a scarf to someone, it is received with grace and immediately offered back to you, completing the circle. Today, however, the culture of giving and receiving is often burdened by a complex mix of social obligations and expectations.
To cultivate a practice of graceful giving and receiving, you can begin by examining the patterns and assumptions you bring to the exchange and by becoming more aware of what inhibits your ability to give and receive freely. The next time someone gives you something, pay attention to the memories and associations that arise in your mind. For instance, in the past, you may have experienced receiving as a surrender of power to the giver. As a child, most likely you were taught that it is better to give than to receive; giving is considered to be a virtue, but receiving is seldom regarded as such; rather, it is viewed warily as a potential path toward vanity. In contrast, you may also have been taught to be suspicious of people who offer you gifts, as in the proscription against accepting candy from strangers.
Next, it’s important to work through the expectations and assumptions that such past associations engender. When you give, pay attention to the expectations you place on the gift and on the recipient’s response, and gently let them go. Gift giving can be a way of seeking love and approval. There is tenderness and vulnerability in the moment of offering a gift, and an attempt to communicate one’s intimacy and connection with another person.
For the recipient, there is similarly a kind of vulnerability in accepting a gift from a loved one. If you are disappointed—or even insulted—by the gift, or if you sense that the giver is not really in tune with who you are, how do you respond in a way that is not hurtful? Some people are close enough to each other to see the humor in this vulnerability, so that even failed gifts become occasions for deepening the bonds of affection. However, often people expect their gift to be a success, and if it is not, they take offense. Receiving a gift in that atmosphere puts pressure on the recipient. Not being appropriately enthusiastic could imply a rejection of that person and your relationship. It can also sometimes be tempting to use the act of giving to develop power or influence over the recipient. When you are given a gift, although you may have opinions as to the motivation of the giver, try to accept whatever is given to you simply and directly, with dignity.
Receiving is a powerful—and intimate—practice, for we are actually inviting another person into ourselves. Rather than focusing on our own practice, or on our own virtue, we can focus on providing an opportunity for someone else to develop generosity. In spite of its complexities and entanglements, the moment of exchange is one of simple connection and opening. That moment itself is unsullied. For that reason it is said that generosity is the discipline that produces peace.
Judy Lief is a student of Chögyam Trungpa Rinpocher and an acharya, or senior teacher, in the Shambhala Buddhist tradition. She is the author of Making Friends with Death: A Buddhist Guide to Encountering Mortality.
Tricycle
Awake in the World
on practice
Dana: The Practice of Giving
Dana (pronounced “DAH-nuh”), noun. Sanskrit, Pali, roughly “gift, alms, donation”; voluntary giving of materials, energy, or wisdom (dharma) to others; generosity; regarded as one of the most important Buddhist virtues. Simple acts of giving—whether material, emotional, or spiritual—are often riddled with ambivalence arising from craving and attachment. This section provides suggestions for our most common dana dilemmas and poses questions to help you determine where you are on the path to true generosity.
The Wisdom of Giving: Q & A with Andrew Olendzki
What is dana? Why do we practice it? What is the “right” way to give? What are some benefits of and obstacles to giving? Dana (“giving”) is the most fundamental of all Buddhist practices. It is the first topic in the Buddha’s graduated talks, the first step on the bodhisattva’s path to perfection, and the first of the ten paramitas (perfections) in the Mahayana tradition. It therefore sets the tone for all that follows in the spiritual journey.The act of giving purifies intention, the quality of mind with which any action is undertaken. For a brief moment, the giver’s self-absorption is lifted, attachment to the gift is relinquished, and kindness towards the recipient is developed. All actions—of thought, word, and deed—undertaken for the sake of others rather than for one’s own selfish purposes become transformed by the power of generosity.
Giving needs to be practiced and developed because our underlying tendency toward attachment, aversion, and confusion so often interferes with a truly selfless act of generosity. Consummate observer of human nature that he was, the Buddha pointed out the many ways we can give with mixed motives: we give out of fear, or in accordance with tradition; we give with the expectation of return; we give in hope of gain, or a favorable reputation or rebirth; we give to adorn our mind, or simply because giving brings joy.
All generosity is valuable. When asked by King Pasenadi of Koshala, “To whom should a gift be given?” the Buddha replied, “To whomever it pleases your mind.”
All schools of Buddhism recognize that giving brings the most benefit when coupled with wisdom. In the Mahayana tradition, this means recognizing the inherent emptiness of any true distinction between giver and recipient. In the earlier schools, less attention is paid to the metaphysics of giving and more to its psychology, focusing upon the intention of the giver, the nature of the gift, and the worthiness of the recipient.
An act of giving is of most benefit when one gives something of value, carefully, with one’s own hand, while showing respect, and with a view that something wholesome will come of it. The same is true when one gives out of faith, respectfully, at the right time, with a generous heart, and without causing denigration. Under such circumstances, according to the Buddha, “before giving, the mind of the giver is happy; while giving, the mind of the giver is made peaceful; and having given, the mind of the giver is uplifted.” One who is accomplished in dana is said to “dwell at home with a mind free from the stain of stinginess, freely generous, open-handed, delighting in relinquishment, devoted to charity, delighting in giving and sharing.”
The nature of the gift itself is less important, and is adapted to suit various populations. It is appropriate for people of means to give freely to those in need, for lay people generally to give the basic requisites of a simple life to monks and nuns, and for all people to give less tangible - but much more valuable - gifts to one another at every opportunity.
One of the most important acts of generosity involves Buddhism’s five precepts. By giving up killing, stealing, false speech, sexual misconduct, and intoxicants, one “gives to immeasurable beings freedom from fear, hostility, and oppression.” And the highest gift of all is the gift of dharma—by teaching (if qualified) or by facilitating the teaching of others.
In a profoundly interdependent world, generosity is fundamental to the entire economy of life. Even the simplest biological function involves receiving something from others (nutrients, oxygen, life), processing it in some unique way, and then passing it on to all other members of the matrix of life. We all do this whether we want to or not, and whether or not we are aware of it. The practice of giving becomes perfected when we align ourselves very deeply with this truth, by consciously and mindfully offering everything we do or say—even everything we think—as an act of universal generosity.
Andrew Olendzki, Ph.D., is the executive director of the Barre Center for Buddhist Studies, in Barre, Massachusetts, and is editor of the Insight Journal.
References from the Pali: A8:31-3; S3:3.4; M110:23; A5:148; A6:37; A4:61; A8:39
Image: Illustrations of the alms bowls by Thai artist Montien Boonma (1953-2000), from his exhibit "Temple of the Mind," on view at the Asia Society Gallery in New York City through May 11, 2003, as part of The Buddhism Project (www.buddhismproject.org). © Montien Boonma, Courtesy of The Asia Society, New York
The Prince and the Elephant: The Vessantara Jataka Tale
The Jataka Tales comprise a collection of 550 stories recounting the previous incarnations of the Buddha. Together, the tales illustrate the perfection of virtues on the path to enlightenment.
This painting depicts a portion of the story of the Buddha’s final incarnation. In this tale the Buddha is born as Prince Vessantara, renowned for his generosity. On the day of his birth, an auspicious white elephant is also born, and is given to the newborn as a childhood companion. Years later, a delegation of Brahmins arrives from a neighboring kingdom and explains that their citizens are suffering from famine and drought. They beseech the eminently generous prince to donate his white elephant, believing it will help allay their suffering. Vessantara gladly assents, and pours water over his guests’ hands to signify that he does not expect repayment.
Vessantara performs acts of ever-greater generosity, eventually relinquishing even his children. His generosity is ultimately tested, however, when a god descends and asks Vessantara for his wife as a servant [depicted in the painting]. When Vessantara complies, the gods bestow blessings upon the prince, and he is reunited with his wife and children.
The Gift That Cannot Be Given: Q & A with Marcia Rose
Can you suggest any ways to develop my dana practice? The Buddha taught: "If you knew as I know the benefit of generosity, you would not let an opportunity go by without sharing." The Buddha taught and lived what is really a "way of life": giving and receiving the practice of dana. The cultivation of dana offers the possibility of purifying and transforming greed, clinging, and self-centeredness, as well as the fear that is linked to these energies of attachment. Dana practice is the foundation of Buddhist spiritual development. Generosity is the ground of compassion; it is a prerequisite to the realization of liberation.
The Tibetans have a practice to cultivate generosity. They take an ordinary everyday object such as a potato or a turnip, and hold it in one hand and pass it to the other hand, back and forth, until it becomes easy. They then move on to objects of seemingly greater value, such as a mound of precious jewels or rice. This “giving” from hand to hand ultimately becomes a symbolic relinquishment of everything—our outer material attachments and our inner attachments of habits, preferences, ideas, beliefs—a symbolic “letting go” of all the ways that we create a “self” over and over again. In our Vipassana practice, this is really what we are doing, but without the props. We learn to give and to receive, letting go of control, receiving what is given—receiving each moment of our lives just as it is, with the trust that it is just right, just enough for our spiritual growth to unfold from.
As our dana practice deepens, we begin to know more directly the ephemeral nature of all things. What can we really possess, after all? Our realization that there is actually nothing that can be held on to can become a powerful factor in cultivating our inner wealth of generosity, which is a wealth that can never be depleted, a gift that can forever be given, a seamless circle that feeds itself. As the Buddha tells us, “The greatest gift is the act of giving itself.”
The Buddha taught “kingly or queenly giving,” which means giving the best of what we have, instinctively and graciously, even if none remains for ourselves. We are only temporary caretakers of all that is provided; essentially, we own nothing. As this understanding takes root in us, there is no getting, possessing, and giving; there is just the spaciousness that allows all things to remain in the natural flow of life.
Someone once asked Gandhi, “Why do you give so much? Why do you serve all these people?” Surprisingly, Gandhi answered, “I don’t give to anyone. I do it all for myself.” The aim and the fruit of our dana practice is twofold: we give to help and free others, and we give to help and free ourselves.
Here are some questions we can ask ourselves to help determine if we are giving and receiving with mindfulness:
• What is happening in my body when I give?
• What is happening in my mind?
• Is there a sense of ease, openness, and nonsentimental lovingkindness and compassion in my heart, body, and mind?
• Is there a feeling of depletion, weakness, fear, anger, or confusion—a contraction of my heart, body, and mind?
• Can I go beneath my stories, ideals, and beliefs about how I want the exchange to be or not to be, or how I believe it is “supposed to be” or “not supposed to be”?
• Can I mindfully recognize when I am caught in stories, beliefs, or wishful or aversive thoughts in relation to generosity?
Mindful attention can also help us to know more clearly how much to give in particular situations—or whether or not it’s appropriate to give at all. Here are some questions to consider:
• Am I giving beyond what is appropriate, or giving beyond what may be healthy for myself emotionally and/or physically?
• Are my heart, body, and mind relaxed, open, and joyful when I feel I’ve given “just enough,” or do I experience anguish and contraction of the heart, body, and mind in giving “too much”?
• Am I aware of when the most generous act might be to step back and simply let people take care of themselves, to let go and allow a particular situation to “just be” and work itself out?
Using these questions as guidelines, we can begin to understand the “middle way” of the Buddha’s teaching of dana. Mindfulness is what allows insight to arise in a perfectly natural way and what allows us, in turn, to let go—to recognize ourselves as aspects of the natural flow of life, and in this recognition to give and receive effortlessly in healthy and wise ways.
Marcia Rose is the founding and guiding teacher of Taos Mountain Sangha Meditation Center and the Mountain Hermitage, both in Taos, New Mexico. She also teaches in Barre, Massachusetts, at the Insight Meditation Society and the Forest Refuge.
Three Grapefruits: One Small Act of Giving Can Have Enormous Repercussions in an Interconnected World
A few days before my family and I were leaving Japan in 1968 after a six-year sojourn, my friend from California came to visit and gave us three grapefruits from a carton that he had brought with him. Because of import restrictions, fruits from abroad, such as grapefruits, melons, and grapes, were a rarity and hence ridiculously expensive. A single grapefruit, for example, would cost several thousand yen, equivalent to twenty dollars at the exchange rate at that time. People bought these exotic, imported fruits primarily to give away as gifts on special occasions.Since we were returning to California shortly, where grapefruits are in abundance, we decided to give away the three grapefruits. It so happened to be the day that my wife went to her weekly flower-arranging class, so she gave the grapefruits to her teacher. We thought nothing about it, but a couple of days later we received a special delivery letter from the teacher. Written with a brush on traditional Japanese paper and folded carefully, the letter had to be something special. People today use ballpoint pens to dash off missives.
The teacher’s letter began with very formal words about the weather, then she expressed appreciation for the three grapefruits. She wrote that she shared the first grapefruit with her grandchildren, who were thrilled with the fragrance and taste of an exotic fruit that they had never seen before. The second grapefruit she peeled and ate together with an old friend whom she hadn’t seen for over twenty years, making the reunion a very special event. The third grapefruit she took to a hospital, where her best friend was dying of a terminal illness. She hadn’t eaten for more than a week, but when she saw the grapefruit she wanted to try tasting just a little piece. When she finished the first morsel, she asked for one, then another one, until she ate half the grapefruit. The family members watching all this were in tears, happy that their loved one was enjoying something to eat.
The teacher thanked us profusely from the bottom of her heart for the three grapefruits. My first reaction on reading the letter was, “Thank the grapefruits!” But I also reflected on what Hua-yen Buddhism [a school of Chinese Buddhism based on the Flower Garland Sutra] says about a small act of giving that has repercussions in an interdependent and interconnected world. According to this tradition, one small act of charity (dana paramita) is said to be equal to countless acts of charity. No one can measure the effects of a single act of giving, for its repercussions are beyond our limited imagination.
The grandchildren will always remember the sweet aroma and taste of their first grapefruit, overlapping with the loving image of their grandmother, even after she is long gone. The two women’s reminiscence about the past was made all the more memorable with each bite of grapefruit, the good feeling emanating and embracing those around them. The dying friend will live forever in the hearts and minds of her loved ones as she enjoyed each morsel of grapefruit. The letter from the flower-arranging teacher reminds me of the possible relevance of Hua-yen Buddhism for the contemporary world.
In reflecting on dana paramita, however, I am reminded that it requires “three kinds of purity.” That is, according to Buddhism, true giving involves the awareness that there is no giver, no gift, and no receiver. Attachments of any kind—whether it be to self as the benefactor, the value of the gift, or the acknowledgment by the receiver—nullify the pure act of giving. In our case we had no attachments, not because we were selfless but simply because we didn’t pay for the grapefruits and merely passed them on to the teacher. This might be considered true giving, but it was a fortuitous act and had nothing to do with dana paramita as an act of selfless giving, free of self-interest, which leads to the other shore of enlightenment.
In fact, the true act of dana paramita involves giving up what we cherish the most—ultimately our ego self. I know a school teacher who encourages the practice of dana in children by setting an example. Once, he took his students to give fruits to the homeless. In doing so, he purchased the most expensive fruits at the grocery store. When one mother complained that the homeless did not deserve such extravagance, he explained two important things about true giving. First, it requires some sacrifice on the part of the giver. To give away something that one doesn’t need is not dana. Second, the act must not be condescending but must show respect to the one who receives the gift. In fact, one is grateful to the recipient who makes the act of giving possible.
Although dana paramita in the true sense is our goal, it is not easy to actually practice it. But, as in the case of our three grapefruits, even if giving does not come from our hearts, we want to return something to the world. When such a practice is repeated as often as possible, we may come to realize that just to be alive is a gift, a gift made possible by countless good causes and conditions. Whether we know it or not, every act of compassion, real or simulated, may have a positive significance far beyond our powers of imagination.
Now retired, Taitetsu Unno is the Jill Ker Conway professor emeritus of religion at Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts, where he lives. He giver lectures worldwide on Japanese Buddhism, religion, and culture. Excerpted from Shin Buddhism: Bits of Rubble Turn Into Gold, © 2002 by Taitetsu Unno. Reprinted with permission of Doubleday, a division of Random House, Inc.
Image: © Montien Boonma, Courtesy of Asia Society, New York
Dana Worksheet
Here are some questions to help you develop your practice of dana. Your answers will suggest what you might like to change—and what you might like to keep the same—about how you give and receive. Answer these questions now, and again in a month or two, and see how your responses differ. Then pick a few key areas on which to focus your practice.
• In what ways have you given over the past few months, and to whom?
• What do you find easiest or most enjoyable to give?
• What is most difficult for you to give?
• To whom is it easiest or most enjoyable for you to give?
• To whom is it most difficult for you to give?
• From whom is it easiest for you to receive?
• From whom is it most difficult for you to receive?
• To whom are you able to give with no expectation of return or thanks?
• From whom do you feel you can receive without an expectation of return or thanks?
• Do you ever presume selfish motivations in people who give to you?
• Do you ever feel indebtedness to people who give to you? Which people, and why?
• Do you ever feel resentment at being asked to give? To whom, and why?
• Do you have trouble figuring out what is the appropriate amount to give—either emotionally or materially?
• Do you have any past experiences that might affect the way you give and receive today?
• Have you encountered situations where you’ve had the opportunity to give, but have held back? Why?
• Have you encountered situations where you feel you’ve given too much, or too little?
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Giving Full Circle
Robert Aitken Roshi offers a meditation on the ideal of circular giving, founded in an ancient Hawai'ian land-sharing custom.
The Sanskrit word dana is often translated as “alms.” One of the paramitas, or “perfections,” on the Bodhisattva path, dana is traditionally understood as the full circle of giving, from lay supporters to the ordained sangha, in the form of material support, and back again to the laity, in the form of dharma teachings.Dana is the practice of pratitya samutpada, mutually dependent arising. Everything is contingent upon everything else. Plants transpire, the moisture evaporates and returns as rain. The earth is dampened, allowing rootlets to absorb nutrients in the soil. The nutrients themselves are released by worms that eat the earth, and by the casts of countless other beings as they give themselves in death. People, animals, and other plants flourish, and give themselves in turn. The Buddha suggested that human beings can get along best by following this natural way of things. Giving creates happiness; greed creates misery.
The circle of giving can be found in the stories of people everywhere. In Hawai'i , where I live, the land was traditionally divided by the ahupua'a, a pie-shaped parcel extending from a point in the mountains down the tops of two ridges bounding a valley to the sea. Some people foraged for herbs and harvested timber for house and canoe construction in the highest elevations, others grew taro and vegetables lower down, and still others fished in the sea. They gave the products of their labor to their neighbors, and everyone—foresters, farmers, and fisherman—had what they needed to live creative lives. How do we make such stories on our own?
Robert Aitken Roshi is a retired Zen master and cofounder of the Diamond Sangha as well as the Buddhist Peace Fellowship.
Image: © Montien Boonma, Courtesy of Asia Society, New York
The Power of Receiving: Q & A with Judy Lief
When I am given something, I sometimes feel indebtedness, which makes me uncomfortable. What is this discomfort in receiving? Is there a way to receive with grace and generosity? The practice of true generosity is rare; it is an exchange in which both giver and receiver are enriched. In the Tibetan tradition, the custom of exchanging ceremonial scarves, or khatas, perfectly evokes this spirit of giving and receiving freely. When you offer a scarf to someone, it is received with grace and immediately offered back to you, completing the circle. Today, however, the culture of giving and receiving is often burdened by a complex mix of social obligations and expectations.
To cultivate a practice of graceful giving and receiving, you can begin by examining the patterns and assumptions you bring to the exchange and by becoming more aware of what inhibits your ability to give and receive freely. The next time someone gives you something, pay attention to the memories and associations that arise in your mind. For instance, in the past, you may have experienced receiving as a surrender of power to the giver. As a child, most likely you were taught that it is better to give than to receive; giving is considered to be a virtue, but receiving is seldom regarded as such; rather, it is viewed warily as a potential path toward vanity. In contrast, you may also have been taught to be suspicious of people who offer you gifts, as in the proscription against accepting candy from strangers.
Next, it’s important to work through the expectations and assumptions that such past associations engender. When you give, pay attention to the expectations you place on the gift and on the recipient’s response, and gently let them go. Gift giving can be a way of seeking love and approval. There is tenderness and vulnerability in the moment of offering a gift, and an attempt to communicate one’s intimacy and connection with another person.
For the recipient, there is similarly a kind of vulnerability in accepting a gift from a loved one. If you are disappointed—or even insulted—by the gift, or if you sense that the giver is not really in tune with who you are, how do you respond in a way that is not hurtful? Some people are close enough to each other to see the humor in this vulnerability, so that even failed gifts become occasions for deepening the bonds of affection. However, often people expect their gift to be a success, and if it is not, they take offense. Receiving a gift in that atmosphere puts pressure on the recipient. Not being appropriately enthusiastic could imply a rejection of that person and your relationship. It can also sometimes be tempting to use the act of giving to develop power or influence over the recipient. When you are given a gift, although you may have opinions as to the motivation of the giver, try to accept whatever is given to you simply and directly, with dignity.
Receiving is a powerful—and intimate—practice, for we are actually inviting another person into ourselves. Rather than focusing on our own practice, or on our own virtue, we can focus on providing an opportunity for someone else to develop generosity. In spite of its complexities and entanglements, the moment of exchange is one of simple connection and opening. That moment itself is unsullied. For that reason it is said that generosity is the discipline that produces peace.
Judy Lief is a student of Chögyam Trungpa Rinpocher and an acharya, or senior teacher, in the Shambhala Buddhist tradition. She is the author of Making Friends with Death: A Buddhist Guide to Encountering Mortality.
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