Initially, Buddhism spread from India throughout Southeast Asia (Thailand, Vietnam, Indonesia), and the tradition known as Theravadan (pronounced ter-a-va-din), has been practiced continuously for more than 2500 years. The tradition is also so categorized for following the earliest recorded teachings of the historical Buddha, known as the Pali Canon (the language that the historical Buddha spoke—an ancient form of classical Sanskrit).
As another important mark, or characteristic, traditional Theravadin practitioners consider the Buddha Shakyamuni the only completely pure teacher of the religion that bears his name and, therefore, the practices associated with the tradition are those taught, or reasonably thought to have been taught, by the historical Buddha himself.
This profound and simple tradition, therefore, which has both contemporary and Western practitioners, testifies to its enduring authenticity and the enduring Truth of the Buddha for people anywhere at anytime.
Before one can know the “big picture”—and we tend to be, after all, “big picture” people—one must understand the small picture, the details. One cannot hope to know the truth of Reality, unless one knows oneself, first. Thus, the focus of the Theravadin tradition is on studying one’s self, deeply and thoroughly.
We think we know so much about the world, about everything, and how “it all works”—but know so little about ourselves and how we work. The historical Buddha therefore emphasized focusing on the what we mostly don’t know—the root of our ignorance—which is ourselves—who we are. And how do we begin to explore who we are? By studying and exploring our minds—and what goes on in our minds.
Two basic methods of exploring the mind—our own mind—were taught by the Buddha, and these are called vipassana and samatha. These are commonly translated, respectively, as “insight” and “calm abiding” meditation. Although these practice are often taught, initially, in sequence—the sense being that first one must train to calm the mind, before one can see deeply into the mind’s true working and nature, the two are intended to work together—like one hand washing the other. An analogy is used: if first you wish to study what is in a container of swirling, muddy water, set the glass down and let the dirt settle. Then you can see clearly what is in—and not in—the water.
The goal of meditation in all the traditions of the buddhadharma is wisdom—enlightenment—not oblivion. A common misunderstanding is that the point of calm-abiding meditation—the accomplishment or mastery of it—is the negation of all conscious thought, which, though possible, is quite pointless: so you’re oblivious; so what (or, rather, what a waste)—so’s a rock! Another mistaken view, more common yet, is the accomplishment of a “blissed-out” state of mind. Unfortunately, to view mind with mind is a most unremarkable endeavor. The content of one’s thoughts (waking, dreaming, daydreaming) is just that—the content of one’s mind—like what one sees in an ocean while scuba diving. What you see is what you see, or rather, what you think you see. The ocean doesn’t care what is seen; neither do the fish.
It’s important to know the contents of your mind, to view them (thoughts/emotions/feelings) and see where they come from and where they go. But the point, if you will, is simply to see what they are, what is there—to investigate, learn, view—in a controlled context—sitting on a cushion or chair for five, maybe ten, minutes in a quiet place and getting used to that on a regular/consistent basis. Thus, when thoughts/emotions arise after meditation—in the context of one’s daily routine—it’s more and more likely (the more familiar one becomes with them—with anything) that it’s not such a big deal! If anything, that’s a big deal.
States of mind that are exciting and disturbing are, for the most part, the result of clinging to the thought and following it. What one sees with practice is simply that the thoughts dissolve away—coming from nowhere, going nowhere, naturally—that’s just how they are. There’s nothing (really!) to do with them. Mental states are only caused by holding on—allowing a thought to become a train of thought, and a train of thought, a habit of thought and so on.
The practice of meditation, then, is largely “familiarization” to the point where the fact that the ocean is full of fish (some pleasant, some unpleasant, to look at) is not a big deal anymore, let alone disturbing. From this, insight naturally arises because the mind that is calm and clear is peaceful—like the ocean, undistressed by the continuous waves along the surface. Waves of the ocean are natural to it and not in any sense apart from it. Ocean, after all, is just ocean, eternally in motion, yet unmoved, immovable—but teaming with life, indeed the mother of all life. In such calm-abiding, insight into Truth naturally, even effortlessly, arises or can be clearly experienced—mind un-contrived or pre-disposed—ultimately at rest, but apparently endlessly restless.
For more information:
Recommended reading: Insight Meditation, the Practice of Freedom, by Joseph Goldstein