My best teacher
A few months ago I studied the biography of Luang Por Chah, who I think of as a grandfather of Western Buddhism. The book describes many ways in which he trained his disciples, including his incredible kindness, his high standards, and his use of psychic powers.
But one of the best gems I discovered from that reading was Luang Por’s use of toramon—a method of intentionally stirring up monks’ suffering so that they can overcome it.
My favorite example from the biography describes how, during a strenuous work period on a harsh winter’s day, a kettle of hot drinks might be brought out from the kitchen and intentionally placed in full view of the laboring monks. If they worried about the cocoa getting cold before they were excused for their break, they would immediately start to suffer. But if they let go of their craving and thought, “If there’s a drink, there’s a drink; if there’s no drink, that’s all right too,” then the suffering would cease in that very moment.
The book offered many more colorful examples of how Luang Por Chah administered this technique to the benefit of his lucky disciples. It also noted that this method was actually kind of a mindfuck, and could only work on the rare occasions where a masterful teacher possessed the full trust of his students.
But in my experience, I’ve found that toramon masters are not rare at all.
Life itself is a toramon master.
When I’m asked to make the hundredth revision to a boring work assignment. When I’m cornered by a stranger in a rambling conversation. When I’ve parked the car in rush hour traffic.
“Ah,” I think to myself, “The kettle is out again.”
Whenever I think of toramon—whenever I practice this way—my suffering ceases.
And my patience grows.
In that very moment.
“Let the teaching be your island and your refuge, with no other refuge.”
—Gotama Buddha, Samyutta Nikaya 22.43