Ayya Khema: Accepting Oneself

It's strange — most of us don't really know how to love ourselves. You'd think it would be the easiest thing in the world, since we're constantly preoccupied with ourselves. We always care about how much money we make, what we've achieved, how comfortably we live. The Buddha said in a sutta, "One is one's own closest companion." So why is loving ourselves so hard?

Loving ourselves doesn't mean indulging ourselves. Most people don't truly love themselves because they have certain unwholesome habits. Everyone has countless reactions, likes, and dislikes. We judge ourselves — approving of certain good qualities while despising others, trying to suppress them, refusing to acknowledge them. Treating ourselves this way harms the very truth we seek.

Another unskillful pattern is blaming our faults on others, which only makes things worse. It's often accompanied by fear and the urge to attack. If we want to find greater balance, there's no use pretending we don't see the unpleasant parts within us — our aggression, anger, cravings, and deceptions. Putting on a mask distances us from the truth and splits us in two. Sometimes we meet people whose friendliness feels a little false — that's simply the result of masking and suppression.

Blaming others doesn't work either. It inevitably means venting our reactions onto them. We blame others for their incompetence, whether or not it's true, or we fail to see them as ordinary human beings. Everyone lives in an unreal, self-deceiving world, but the world of judgment and blame is even more unreal, because it imagines everything to be either far too beautiful or extremely ugly.

Within our minds there are six roots: three wholesome and three unwholesome. The three unwholesome roots are greed, hatred, and delusion. Their opposites are non-greed, non-hatred, and non-delusion. If we observe calmly, we can easily accept these six roots in our minds. They influence our behavior. Then we can observe ourselves more honestly — without condemning the unwholesome roots or excessively praising the wholesome ones, simply acknowledging their existence. We'll see others more clearly and find it easier to get along with them.

A black-and-white world — a world of only wholesome or only unwholesome roots — doesn't exist. Only an arahant is someone of complete purity. For the rest of us, it's merely a matter of degree. The differences between us are only differences in the degree of wholesomeness and unwholesomeness in our minds, which isn't really such an important issue. We all have the same work to do: cultivate the wholesome roots and uproot the unwholesome ones.

We may all appear different, but that's just an illusion. We all have the same problems and the same psychological mechanisms for dealing with them. What differs is how long we've been at the training. When we've spent many lifetimes training the mind, we gain some clarity and focus.

Clear thinking comes from the purification of emotions, which is quite difficult. Only when we don't get caught in the whirlpool of emotion can we successfully purify it. When we observe emotions clearly and directly, seeing them as a normal part of life, the tangled vines of self-identification are cut away. We no longer think "I'm so wonderful" or "I'm truly awful." Everyone has their potential and their limitations. If we can love this person — this "self" with all its functions and habits — we can also love others practically and altruistically. But if we become selective, loving only what's beautiful and despising the rest, we'll never see the truth. One day, we will see things as they truly are. We are the "workshop" of our own karma.

If we can view ourselves this way, we'll love ourselves completely, as the Buddha said: "A mother would protect her child with her own life." If we want to be true to ourselves and give ourselves room to grow, we must become our own mother. A caring mother knows what's good for her child and what's harmful, but she doesn't stop loving the child just because he sometimes does wrong. We can reflect on ourselves the same way. People will always make mistakes — in thought, speech, and action — with thought being the easiest to err in, followed by speech and action. So what should we do? What would a mother do? She'd tell her child not to do it again, and then go on loving and caring for him just the same. Perhaps we can begin caring for ourselves this way too.

This kind of learning is a process of maturation. Maturity brings wisdom, though unfortunately it has little to do with age. If it did, it would be easier — at least we'd have some guarantee. But in truth this is very difficult work, one that each of us must commit to. First we must learn to acknowledge, then make sure we're not blaming ourselves but accepting that "this is simply how things are." The third step is change. For most people, acknowledgment may be the hardest part — understanding our own mind isn't easy. For a contemplative mind, this is the most important and fascinating dimension.

Then we begin to live a contemplative life, but that doesn't mean we have to sit in meditation all day. A contemplative life means treating every aspect of things as a learning experience. We continuously examine all situations inwardly. When we go out into the world — with "the enthusiasm of youth," as the Buddha said — and engage through our thoughts, words, and actions, we should reflect on our words and deeds within our minds. In some religious traditions, a focused life means prayer. For us, it's a combination of meditation and a way of living. Attention is ceaseless. Whether or not we have inner focus, we can do the same things externally. Attention is the most essential ingredient of inner self-reflection. We don't need to sit in meditation all day watching our breath — every action, every thought, every word can deepen our understanding.

This brings a deeper inner stability — a stability grounded in truth. Most people seek this kind of stability but can't express their longing, let alone realize it. Living in illusions or in constant hope and fear weakens our inner strength. When we see the truth within ourselves and recognize it in everyone, a sense of stability arises.

The Buddha said that each of us has seven latent tendencies: sensual desire, ill will, views, doubt, conceit, craving for existence, and ignorance. When we discover them in our minds, we can smile and say, "So here you are! I'm going to get to work!"

People often approach the contemplative life with a heavy heart. When they feel bored, they might step out for some fresh air. That really doesn't work. We should live with ease and naturalness while maintaining inner reflection — free from worry and fear, not making a big deal of anything. The Dhamma is the natural law, and we ourselves embody this law at every moment. We can't escape it — wherever we are, we are the Dhamma; we are impermanence, suffering, and non-self. Whether we're sitting here or on the moon, it's the same everywhere. We need to deal with our own and others' difficulties in a more relaxed way. Without excessive excitement or intensity, but with continuous inner observation, some natural joy will arise. That's best. If we can have a little humor about ourselves, it becomes easier to love ourselves appropriately — and easier to love others.

We often behave in rather strange ways. When these behaviors are taken apart and analyzed, they really are quite amusing. We all have odd thoughts and desires and unrealistic notions. People are truly entertaining, aren't they? But why can't we see this side of ourselves? It would make it much easier to accept those aspects that are otherwise hard to bear.

There's one aspect of human life that can't be changed: life keeps moving forward. Sometimes we sit in meditation together here. But does the world care? It keeps right on turning. The only thing that cares and feels uneasy is our own mind and consciousness. When the mind harbors restlessness, confusion, illusions, and absurdities, there is unhappiness. This is unnecessary. Things are just as they are. If we learn to face the world with equanimity, it becomes easier to purify our minds. The purification of the mind is each person's own work.

If we know what to do, never forget it, and practice meditation with an ordinary mind, the mind will gradually become clear. That too is just as it is. As we continuously shave away our defilements, we gradually realize that these defilements have no inherent nature of their own. No one wants to make themselves unhappy. The influence of external circumstances will eventually fall away. Then some change will occur. It may be very slow — but think how many lifetimes we've already lived through. What does one day, one month, one year, or even ten years matter?

No contriving, no coming, no going. The earth travels its orbit; life cycles endlessly from birth to death. None of this requires our intervention. The only thing we need to do is understand the truth. When we realize the truth, love for ourselves and for others naturally arises, because love is truly the work of our hearts. If we also see our own ugly side and thereby purify ourselves, then nothing requires effort or control — it becomes a natural instinct of the heart, radiating directly outward into the world.

The inner life is the essential dimension of a contemplative life. Whatever is in our minds is reflected directly in the outer world. Inner brightness and purity can't be concealed — and neither can defilements.

Sometimes we think we might be able to make ourselves into completely different people. That's impossible. The Buddha said that to truly understand a person, you must hear them say many things and live with them for a while. People often boast that they can do anything. Naturally, they'll feel disappointed about what they can't do, and others will be disappointed in them too. Being able to carefully and honestly understand ourselves opens our minds and brings joy to a life of introspection. Accepting ourselves and others as we are makes it easier for our minds to become pure and for defilements to fall away.

Ayya Khema was born in 1923 into a Jewish family in Berlin. In 1938, she fled Germany for Glasgow, Scotland. After learning that her parents were in China, she traveled there. With the outbreak of World War II, she was interned in a Japanese concentration camp, where her father died.

Ayya Khema later emigrated to the United States. From 1960 to 1964, she traveled throughout Asia with her husband and children, during which time she began studying meditation. Ten years later, she was teaching meditation in Europe, the United States, and Australia. In 1979, she was ordained as a Buddhist nun in Sri Lanka by the Venerable Narada Maha Thera.

In 1978, together with Phra Khantipalo, she established a Theravada forest monastery near Sydney. In Colombo, Sri Lanka, she also founded the International Buddhist Women's Centre, as well as Parappuduwa Nun's Island, a training center for nuns.

In 1987, Ayya Khema organized the first International Buddhist Women's Conference. In May 1987, she became the first person to present a Buddhist topic at the United Nations in New York.

She served as the spiritual teacher at Buddha-Haus in Germany until her passing. She established it in 1989, and in 1997 she founded the first Theravada monastery in Germany.

Ayya Khema wrote more than twenty books on meditation and Buddhist teachings; her works have been translated into more than seven languages. Her book Being Nobody, Going Nowhere received the Christmas Humphreys Award.

Bhikkhuni Ayya Khema passed away in Germany on November 2, 1997.

Ayya Khema was one of the first generation of female teachers in the West and made vitally important contributions to the integration of Buddhism and feminism. Born in 1923 into a Jewish family in Berlin, she later emigrated to the United States. From 1960 to 1964, she traveled through Asia with her husband and children, during which time she began studying meditation. Ten years later, she taught meditation in Europe, the United States, and Australia. In 1979, she was ordained as a bhikkhuni in Sri Lanka by the Venerable Narada Maha Thera, and in Colombo she founded the International Buddhist Women's Centre. In 1989, she established Buddha-Haus in Germany, where she served as spiritual teacher. She passed away in Germany on November 2, 1997. Ayya Khema wrote more than twenty books on meditation and Buddhist teachings, among the most influential being Being Nobody, Going Nowhere, Island of the Dhamma, Who Is My Self?, and A Life of My Own. Her works have been translated into seven languages.