Lately, I’ve been reflecting on equanimity as a practice that helps regulate one’s mind, body and life. Equanimity (Skt. Upeksha) refers to a balanced, stable mind that remains peaceful and non-reactive through life’s changes. Equanimity is a deep wisdom quality, seen as the culmination or fruit of several of the Buddha’s lists, e.g., the Seven Factors of Awakening and the Ten Perfections.
It is also the fourth Brahmavihara (Divine Abode), along with lovingkindness, compassion and sympathetic joy. Equanimity balances the other three—it centers non-attachment and even-mindedness in awareness. It creates a space in which we can see the happiness or suffering of both ourselves and others as being in accord with the karmic causes and conditions that are arising.
One form of equanimity practice from the Visuddhimagga (The Path of Purification) repeats the phrase, “Happiness and suffering depend on one’s actions and not on my wishes or desires.” It is based on the Buddha’s teaching that “Our acts [of body, speech and mind] are our only true possessions,” and emphasizes the role that intention and agency plays in our lives and in practice.
Modern phrases for cultivating equanimity include, “Whether I understand it or not, things are unfolding according to a lawful nature [i.e., the laws of karma and dependent co-arising],” and “Everything is constantly changing. May I learn to see the arising and passing of all things with equanimity and balance.” This intention can remind us of the broad net within which we are held.
Such clear seeing reflects the cooling wisdom aspect of equanimity, and the importance of balancing the warm-hearted qualities of loving-kindness, compassion, and sympathetic joy. The Buddha repeatedly taught: “Clearly observe: how things arise, come into being, how they are sustained, and how they pass away.” This is how we can practice with impermanence in our day by day, moment to moment experience.
When we see how states of mind and body come into being, what supports their continuation, and how they pass away, we develop two things. First, is familiarity–and with greater familiarity there can be greater ease. Because we know that this has happened before, and will likely happen again, and we are less shocked or thrown off-balance. Second, this increased familiarity allows us to increase our skillfulness in terms of how to overcome states of stress/suffering (dukkha), avoid falling into such states in the first place, and to cultivate and maintain wholesome/beneficial states of mind.
Note that the near-enemy of equanimity is indifference—not the cooling of the passions with the wisdom of clear seeing, but the frozen states of distance, avoidance, or absence of connection and care, all of which are aspects of wrong view (denial of no-self/emptiness and impermanence).
Equanimity manifests as a spaciousness of mind and heart that can see and accept that things are just as they are, simply that “yes, this is happening.” It is the opposite of reactivity, of getting caught in our reactions to our experience. Our reactions are information, responses to the unsettling experience of being profoundly vulnerable human beings. The balance of equanimity and compassion creates a space in which it is possible to care deeply, without becoming caught or overwhelmed by suffering.
Zen tends to take a more active, everyday, body-based approach to practicing equanimity. Dogen writes in Tenzo Kyokun (Instructions for the Cook): “The ancients said, “The mind of the Way is actualized by rolling up the sleeves” (i.e., rolling up their long robe sleeves in order to do manual work). He means this quite literally:
When washing the rice, remove any sand you find. In doing so, do not lose even one grain of rice. When you look at the rice, see the sand at the same time; when you look at the sand, see also the rice. Examine both carefully. Then a meal containing the six flavors and the three qualities will come together naturally.
Dogen is using the mundane action of separating rice and sand to point to how we practice, how we perceive things. He is telling us not to fall into thinking that “rice is good and sand is bad,” or “this is right and that is wrong.” As Suzuki Roshi says, “Not always so!” Dogen tells an old story:
When Xuefeng resided at Dongshan’s monastery, he served as cook. One day when he was sifting rice Dongshan asked him, “Are you sifting the sand and removing the rice, or sifting the rice and removing the sand?” Xuefeng said, “Sand and rice are simultaneously removed.”
Our practice is to see beyond the ordinary, relative way we judge and value things. The way to actualize this practice is to be completely present with what we are doing, moment by moment, whether it’s sitting zazen, cooking rice for the sangha, or whatever seemingly mundane, utterly un-Zen thing we happen to be doing right at this moment. Dogen tells us:
Handle even a single leaf of a green in such a way that it manifests the body of the Buddha.
In closing, I would like to let you know that I will be on a 28-day Insight retreat with Gil Fronsdal (one of Sojun’s transmitted priests, so my elder dharma brother) from Aug. 30 to Sept. 26. In one sense, this is quite un-Zen, and in a larger sense, it is utterly Zen, but it is, without doubt, an extended period of both inquiry and settling into profound equanimity. I look forward to sharing the fruits of this period of intensive practice when I return.


