A previous version of this essay was published in Tzu Chi USA Journal.
"To speak is to enter someone's mind," once said, I believe, by Robert Thurman, eloquent speaker and eminent Buddhist scholar-practitioner in America. Indeed, there is something profoundly sacred and ethical about entering someone else's mind other than one's own. It prevents the listening person from thinking their own thoughts and instead their own thoughts are pushed aside with the speaker's words.
Perhaps it is the way that my own mind works, but people's words often stick in my head—good words, bad words, neutral words. Words that don't mean anything. Words that inspire me or depress me. They literally stick and without my wielding, they float to my mind at random times of the day, like they are haunting me, and I hear their voice. Perhaps, it is for this reason that I appreciate my moments of solitude, in the company of my own mind. I can finally hear myself loudly and clearly. There are no interruptive, intrusive thoughts of others.
As the Buddha often said to his followers, "Say good words, do good deeds, think good thoughts; this is the teaching of the Buddha." Such a simple yet essential teaching! If one gets right speech alone, one will have one out of three down. When looking into ancient scriptural texts including those pertaining to vows of a bodhisattva, it is no surprise that there are numerous elaborations and explanations on speech:
Gentle, not harsh; calming, not agitating
My mother and I often talk about the way in which we talk. My mother's voice is deep and others tell me that it sounds like she is scolding others; in fact she is just excited, passionate, and opinionated. But, as one classmate suggested to me, it is amazing what raising one's voice to be a pitch higher and a tad slower and gentler can do for those with low-pitched voices, and the opposite for high-pitched voices. The sound of one's voice becomes much more soothing, more gentle.
I remember one time when I visited a friend's house for the first time -- they are, I note, Indian-Americans, Sindhi to be exact -- and on the first day there, I thought the family members were having a terrible fight. People screaming up and down stairs. Loud voices. Scolding. Loud sighs. This continued to the second day. Third day. And finally on the fourth day, I realized that in fact there was no fight occurring at all; it was simply the way in which they were speaking. It is true that there is something cultural about the way we speak -- and it may be that certain cultures are accustomed to speaking more loudly than others. Nevertheless, it also means that there are many opportunities for misunderstanding, especially when a person of one culture is on the receiving end of another person's culture.
And it's not only about the way the voice sounds, but also the choice of words that one uses. For example, when I first met a friend who happened to be Indian, he would often use the word "Fine." It was a "Fine" that in the US usually means "Fine! (I got it -- get off my back -- fine!)" It was in that context that I thought, incorrectly, that he used the word "Fine" when he was annoyed or frustrated. But it was only until I visited India for the first time in 2007 and I spent three full months in Ahmedabad with other English-speaking Indians that I realized that their use of "Fine" was equivalent to our use of "Okay". At that point I realized again, what we say can be totally misinterpreted by others. Hence, both the speaker and the listener have a responsibility -- the speaker to be more careful and the listener to not take things so seriously in case there is a misunderstanding. This is also a teaching from Master Cheng Yen in her Still Thoughts Aphorisms (Jing Si Aphorisms).
I'll be extending this post in coming days on the other features of a bodhisattva's way of speech. Stay tuned.
"To speak is to enter someone's mind," once said, I believe, by Robert Thurman, eloquent speaker and eminent Buddhist scholar-practitioner in America. Indeed, there is something profoundly sacred and ethical about entering someone else's mind other than one's own. It prevents the listening person from thinking their own thoughts and instead their own thoughts are pushed aside with the speaker's words.
Perhaps it is the way that my own mind works, but people's words often stick in my head—good words, bad words, neutral words. Words that don't mean anything. Words that inspire me or depress me. They literally stick and without my wielding, they float to my mind at random times of the day, like they are haunting me, and I hear their voice. Perhaps, it is for this reason that I appreciate my moments of solitude, in the company of my own mind. I can finally hear myself loudly and clearly. There are no interruptive, intrusive thoughts of others.
As the Buddha often said to his followers, "Say good words, do good deeds, think good thoughts; this is the teaching of the Buddha." Such a simple yet essential teaching! If one gets right speech alone, one will have one out of three down. When looking into ancient scriptural texts including those pertaining to vows of a bodhisattva, it is no surprise that there are numerous elaborations and explanations on speech:
gentle, not harsh
truthful, not false
calming, not agitating
relevant, not gossip
concerted and concise, not idle
Gentle, not harsh; calming, not agitating
My mother and I often talk about the way in which we talk. My mother's voice is deep and others tell me that it sounds like she is scolding others; in fact she is just excited, passionate, and opinionated. But, as one classmate suggested to me, it is amazing what raising one's voice to be a pitch higher and a tad slower and gentler can do for those with low-pitched voices, and the opposite for high-pitched voices. The sound of one's voice becomes much more soothing, more gentle.
I remember one time when I visited a friend's house for the first time -- they are, I note, Indian-Americans, Sindhi to be exact -- and on the first day there, I thought the family members were having a terrible fight. People screaming up and down stairs. Loud voices. Scolding. Loud sighs. This continued to the second day. Third day. And finally on the fourth day, I realized that in fact there was no fight occurring at all; it was simply the way in which they were speaking. It is true that there is something cultural about the way we speak -- and it may be that certain cultures are accustomed to speaking more loudly than others. Nevertheless, it also means that there are many opportunities for misunderstanding, especially when a person of one culture is on the receiving end of another person's culture.
And it's not only about the way the voice sounds, but also the choice of words that one uses. For example, when I first met a friend who happened to be Indian, he would often use the word "Fine." It was a "Fine" that in the US usually means "Fine! (I got it -- get off my back -- fine!)" It was in that context that I thought, incorrectly, that he used the word "Fine" when he was annoyed or frustrated. But it was only until I visited India for the first time in 2007 and I spent three full months in Ahmedabad with other English-speaking Indians that I realized that their use of "Fine" was equivalent to our use of "Okay". At that point I realized again, what we say can be totally misinterpreted by others. Hence, both the speaker and the listener have a responsibility -- the speaker to be more careful and the listener to not take things so seriously in case there is a misunderstanding. This is also a teaching from Master Cheng Yen in her Still Thoughts Aphorisms (Jing Si Aphorisms).
I'll be extending this post in coming days on the other features of a bodhisattva's way of speech. Stay tuned.
