Theravada, Mahayana, and Vajrayana Buddhism

Due to changing life and sangha circumstances, it is not uncommon that folks who have practiced in one Buddhist tradition find themselves practicing in a different tradition. Perhaps they move or their home sangha falls apart or their teacher moves away, and to continue practicing, they join a different group and tradition. Or perhaps you are considering practicing, have options, and are not sure which tradition to practice. While nothing can replace simply visiting a sangha to see whether the community seems healthy, it may be helpful to understand some basic similarities and differences in the three primary traditions. In this post I offer rough sketches of Theravada, Mahayana (specifically my tradition of Zen), and Vajrayana Buddhism.

Theravada Buddhism, which most closely adheres to the earliest Buddhist sutras, emphasizes the model of the arhat who attains enlightenment by following the 8 fold path. Meditation, the precepts, and the six paramitas are the vital practices. The ideal is monastic practice, but this tradition is also available to lay people often through classes and extended retreats.

Mahayana Buddhism is the second "turning of the wheel of Dharma" and, among adherents, is considered a natural development of the Buddha's original teachings. For example, the concept of nonself evolves into the teachings of dependent origination and the emptiness (lack of intrinsic essence) of all phenomena. Given interconnectedness, the bodhisattva practices to save not a separate self but all beings. This aspiration is modeled after Buddha, who taught for the remainder of his life after awakening.

Photo by Sandra Raponi

Vajrayana is a form of Buddhism that developed in India and neighboring countries, perhaps most notably Tibet. Considered the third turning of the wheel of Dharma, Vajrayana offers tantric practices that emulate Buddha's enlightenment, particularly the identity of wisdom and compassion.

Broadly speaking, the first "stage" of practice in all three traditions is taking refuge in Buddha, Dharma and Sangha, vowing to honor the precepts, and practicing concentration or calm abiding.

Still, adventitious suffering based on a lack of alignment with our true nature persists; we project enduring selfhood where there is none (this is our ignorance) and thus experience intensified grasping and aversion (which are the primary forms of suffering). These 3 poisons of ignorance, grasping, and aversion block our innate compassion.

In the Theravada tradition, one progresses further down the path by cultivating loving kindness, compassion, sympathetic joy, and equanimity through meditative exercises, such as sending feelings of compassion to oneself and others. One might think during meditation, “May you be free of pain and sorrow. May you be well and happy.” Practitioners begins by sending compassion to friends and family. Then one sends compassion to people whom one might not be inclined to wish well, such as people who may have hurt us. Gradually, one learns to extend compassion to all beings. Practitioners also cultivate insight into the lack of an innate, unchanging self. In Vipassana meditation, one labels sensations and mental formations and notices their impermanence. This practice breaks our identification with such states, alleviating ignorance, grasping, and aversion.

In Zen, the teaching is that we are already Buddhas sitting on the bodhi seat. We just do not necessarily realize this. Hakuin’s Song of Zazen says, “All beings by nature are Buddha, as ice by nature is water.... This very body is the Buddha." In the Soto Zen tradition, we practice zazen (meditation) with this "great faith" that whatever arises is buddha-nature manifesting. We give up looking outside of our experience for enlightenment, and we deepen our appreciation of things exactly as they are, regardless of the content of our minds. We don’t do zazen to become Buddhas; zazen is Buddha’s practice. We have faith that “Nirvana is right here, before our eyes," and "this very place is the Lotus Land" (Hakuin).

In addition to practicing with great faith, Zen encourages "great doubt.” Believing concepts and senses of self have fixed referents is the fundamental delusion inspiring painful grasping and aversion. In zazen, we practice "opening the hand of thought." We do not need to make this happen; awareness is its own action. Delusions are self-releasing. Our task is simply to sit still, be quiet, and pay attention. In this practice, we recognize concepts and senses of self (even notions of emptiness and Buddhahood) as concepts and senses of self. In practice, we see that all mental formations come and go. Indeed, all phenomena are like a rainbow -- without any enduring substance and dependent on changing causes and conditions. Recognizing this alleviates ignorance, grasping, and aversion. There is no “thing” to reject or hold onto.

But even great faith and great doubt might be described as just ideas. Beyond "is" and "is not," beyond affirmation and negation, this dream-life shape-shifts like clouds in the sky. Inspired by a deep feeling of interconnection as we open beyond self-concern, compassion moves us to respond to the cries of the world. Bodhisattvas dedicate themselves to actual people and everyday problems (including but not only our own) rather than any abstract notion of compassion. Awakening does not make us infallible gods. On the contrary, we see just how deluded and fallible we are. We make many mistakes in this life of vow, and we atone and start over again and again. We just do our best, moment after moment, to alleviate suffering, though there are no separate beings to save.

Some Zen traditions also offer koans to help us awaken to the dance of life. It is essential to study with a trained teacher in practicing koans -- one who has completed a koan curriculum themselves. We do not need to "work on" the koan but to allow the koan to express itself through us. Time and again, we move into the dark of no knowing, then trust what arises. In this practice, we come to see see through the eyes of the ancestral teachers. Our eyebrows are entangled. We embody and express the wisdom and compassion of the ancient masters. Thus the Dharma is transmitted.

The second stage in Vajrayana practice is "deity identification" or "guru devotion." In tantric practice (which requires a skillful teacher), practitioners identify with their deity's or guru's realization rather than with their small sense of self, "purifying" afflictive states into awareness itself. In the beginning of this practice, the deity or guru may seem external to oneself and may even take the form of a wrathful deity; through practice, one realizes the awakened aspects of one's own mind. We might think of this as a development of the Mahayana teaching that we are already Buddhas; this tantric practice essentially offers a skillful means of realizing this, as koan practice does in the Zen tradition.

And stage three in Vajrayana practice might be described as "energy work" that cultivates insight into the emptiness of the deity or guru. Any identification with enlightenment is extra and must be left behind. This is reminiscent of the ancient teaching that when we cross the river samsara, we do not bring the raft with us on the "other shore." It also reminds us of the Zen teaching, "If you meet the Buddha, kill the Buddha." Of course this is not literal; it means that the Dharma is medicine for particular forms of suffering, and once we are free, we should no longer be attached to that medicine. That would become a burden for us.

While there are parallels between the three turnings of the wheel of Dharma, there are also differences in terms of content, emphases, techniques, aesthetics, and in how the Dharma is presented. For example, in Zen, though we have our ox herding pictures describing developmental stages, we also explicitly acknowledge from day one that even the conceptual maps of the Dharma must be held lightly. A student once asked the Korean nun and teacher, Manseong Sunim, "How do I cultivate the Way of the Buddha?" "No cultivation," answered Manseong. "What about obtaining release from the cycle of birth and death?" the student persisted. "Who chains your birth and death?" Manseong replied. As Grace Schireson explains, "While there is awakening, we cannot self-consciously follow a map or a list of the right steps. The to-do list tends to pervert our practice into an idea of gain" and "chains us to desire" (Schireson, Zen Women, p. 134). From the perspective of great doubt, there’s no path, nowhere to go, nothing to attain, and nothing we can hold onto. Put affirmatively from the perspective of great faith, when we sit zazen, enlightenment is already present, and all the precepts are fulfilled. Practice is realization. Still, we must not imagine that this means we do not need to practice. That's just another idea. Practice requires great effort. It's just that the entire path is contained in this very moment of practice-enlightenment.

Though the technologies and descriptions of Theravada, Mahayana, and Vajrayana vary, the Lotus Sutra suggests there really is only "one vehicle," and any differences are merely matters of expedient (skillful) means. Why is there only one vehicle? Because practice does not take us anywhere other than where we are. We are already at the end of the path. And, we need to realize this deeply for ourselves, so we practice. 

On the surface, practices do appear different, but ultimately I think they are different yet often overlapping means to similar ends. For example, in tantric practice, one may invoke wrathful deities, which are, at least in part, "the very embodiment of the negative karmas or emotions they help us confront" (Lee Kane). The practice of facing these wrathful deities helps practitioners integrate with them and see the emptiness of what initially appear to be obstacles (such as fear and anger). In this way, these obstacles can be realized as dharma gates. Though beautifully personified in tantric practices, all Buddhist traditions invite us to face our demons to realize wisdom and compassion. Tantric practice may appear different from the practice of shikantaza (Zen's practice of just sitting still and paying attention to whatever arises), but shikantaza inevitably includes meeting our "inner demons" in the same way Buddha met the demon Mara on the evening of his enlightenment. When Buddha faced Mara, he stayed still and simply said, "I see you Mara," and Mara's arrows turned into flower petals of emptiness. In Zen, we say "awareness is its own action." Compassionately bearing witness is enough to realize the emptiness of phenomena, even scary demons, and this is precisely what we do in shikantaza.

Rest assured, all three traditions will challenge what we often hold most dear -- our often unconscious attachments to concepts and senses of self that undergird suffering. All three traditions will encouage us to face what we otherwise might avoid (and thus be unconsciously controlled by). Many aspects of our traditions resonate with each other, and they fundamentally align in that we practice to actualize awakening in the world.

So why choose one tradition over the next? Perhaps it is simply a matter of trying them to see where we feel the deepest affinity with the Dharma, the teacher(s), and the sangha. Having said this, I do think it is important that once we choose a tradition, we follow through over the long haul if possible. While we can't control all circumstances and may need to find another teacher and sangha at some point, repeatedly bouncing from one tradition and teacher to another might be a way to avoid those practices and teachings that we find the most challenging, and that are also the most liberating.

Zen: Actualizing the Noble Eightfold Path

The ancient Chinese Zen master Lin Chi once told a monk, "If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him." Though easily misinterpreted, such startling statements are intended to wake us up. Still, as iconoclastic as many Zen teachers may appear, Zen practices actually have their roots in Buddha's original teachings.

Buddhism is comprised of many different lists — the two truths, the three refuges, the four noble truths, the five aggregates, the six paramitas, the seven factors of awakening, the noble eightfold path, and so on. It’s helpful to know that each teaching in Buddhism contains all the other teachings because ultimately, they all have their source in meditation, and they all point toward the salvific quality of reality, just as it is. 

Still, there are a few Buddhist teachings that are foundational. The four noble truths explain that life includes suffering, suffering has causes, suffering ends, and there is an eightfold path of practice to alleviate suffering. The noble eightfold path is the heart of Buddha’s teachings.

Today, I’d like to explore how the eightfold path is deeply woven into the Zen tradition, even if it is not always explicitly named. The key guidances of the eightfold path manifest in Living Vow Zen's sutras, vows, and practices. To practice Zen is to embody and actualize the noble eightfold path.

The elements of the eightfold path are: right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, right concentration, right thought, and right understanding (or insight). The eightfold path includes three aspects of Buddhist training: ethical conduct, meditation, and wisdom (Walpola Sri Rahula). These three aspects are interwoven: ethical conduct is inspired by the wisdom that we are deeply interconnected, which we clearly see for ourselves in meditation. 

Yet we can also explore each aspect of the eightfold path separately. There are 3 ethical commitments in the eightfold path: right speech, right action, and right livelihood. In the Zen tradition, we find our ethical guidelines most explicitly stated in our bodhisattva precepts, and four of our sixteen vows specifically address right speech because it is so important. In those four precepts, we state:

I vow to take up the Way of Not Speaking Falsely.

I vow to take up the Way of Not Finding Fault with Others.
I vow to take up the Way of Not Elevating Myself at the Expense of Others.
I vow to take up the Way of Not Defaming the Three Treasures.

Right action is another ethical commitment in the eightfold path that "aims to promote moral, honorable, and peaceful conduct, encouraging us to abstain from destroying life, from stealing, from dishonest dealings, from illegitimate sexual intercourse, and encouraging us to help others to lead ethical and peaceful lives" (Walpola Sri Rahula).  Though in Living Vow we avoid using the term "illegitimate" regarding sexual intercourse, Zen's bodhisattva precepts offer corresponding guidelines for ethical behavior:

I vow to take up the Way of Not killing.

I vow to take up the Way of Not Stealing.
I vow to take up the Way of Not Misusing Sex.
I vow to take up the Way of Not Intoxicating Mind and Body.
I vow to take up the Way of Not Sparing the Dharma Assets (meaning, in part, that we vow to be of benefit by sharing the dharma, as appropriate, with those who are suffering).

Right livelihood, the third ethical commitment of the eightfold path, means that "we should abstain from making our living through any profession that brings harm to others, such as trading in arms and lethal weapons, intoxicating drinks or poisons, killing animals, or cheating, and we should earn our living in a profession which is honorable, blameless, and innocent of harm to others" (Walpola Sri Rahula). In our Zen tradition, as mentioned above, we vow in our precepts to avoid killing and intoxicants, and a deep reading of these precepts suggests that we should do all we can to promote life and avoid any activity that leads to the taking of life, such as selling arms or intoxicants. In our precepts, we also vow to cease from evil and to practice good, including in our professions.

The second aspect of the eightfold path is meditation, in which three other guidances are offered: right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration.

Traditionally, right effort is “the energetic will to prevent evil and unwholesome states of mind from arising, and to get rid of such evil and unwholesome states that have already arisen, and also to produce, to cause to arise, good, and wholesome states of mind not yet arisen, and to develop and bring to perfection the good and wholesome states of mind already present” (Walpola Sri Rahula). In Living Vow Zen, we remind ourselves of this guidance during every sutra service when we recite our Gatha of Atonement, in which we state, “All evil karma ever created by me since of old, on account of my beginningless greed, anger, and ignorance born of my body, mouth, and thought, I vow to atone for it all.” This chant, followed by meditation in our services, helps to illuminate these painful states of mind — the "three poisons" of greed, anger, and ignorance. In my tradition, we do not try to prevent such states from ever arising. Such a practice can lack compassion, be repressive, and lead to spiritual bypasses of appropriate feelings. However, in meditation, we consciously decide not to fuel or act on these painful states when they arise. Instead, we sit still and bear witness to their arising and their dissolution, revealing that we need not be enslaved by such mind states. 

Additionally, in our bodhisattva precepts, we say, “I vow to take up the Way of Not Harboring Ill Will.” We notice ill will arise in us, then we let it go rather than investing in it. By no longer adding fuel to the flames of division and by allowing the three poisons to arise and dissolve rather than acting impulsively on them, we open beyond these painful states to our inherent interconnection with all beings, resulting in a deepening sense of compassion and care. Having paused to realign with our vows, we can often take more skillful and less harmful action to address injustices and alleviate suffering. Of course, being human, sometimes we make mistakes. One thousand mistakes, ten thousand mistakes. So we also practice atoning and renewing our vows. This is how we actualize our compassionate true nature.

Which leads us to the second guidance in meditation, right mindfulness, which is to be diligently aware of the body, sensations, feelings, the mind, and all things. In other words, we practice awareness of life, just as it is. In this practice, we see that all things come and go, even senses of self. Everything dissolves into what is. In the deepest sense, this and all of the practices of the 8-fold path reveal that there is no destination for practice other than where we are.

The third and last guidance of meditation within the eightfold path is right concentration. In Zen practice, to cultivate concentration, we begin with counting the breath. We may find that feelings and thoughts naturally settle during this practice, but we do not explicitly aim to silence our minds, for doing so is buying into yet another idea that simply leads us away from realizing the true nature of what is present. It can also foster a belief in a fixed self that needs to be eradicated when there is no fixed self to begin with. So we do not aim to be anything and instead notice the ever-changing constellation of processes that we used to identify as an unchanging self. As concentration naturally develops, we might open our awareness to noticing the sensations of the body, ideas that come and go, shapeshifting feelings, and the dance of life around us. We call this expansive practice “shikantaza,” where we simply notice whatever is present. This practice cultivates a profound equanimity that does not depend on the content of our hearts, minds, or experience. This is liberation in the deepest sense.

The remaining two guidances of the eightfold path, namely right thought and right understanding, constitute the aspect of wisdom. Right thought suggests thoughts of love and compassion, which extend to all beings. In the Zen tradition, we cultivate this sense of care in our bodhisattva precepts when we “vow to save all beings.” We remind ourselves of this vow every time we recite our four bodhisattva vows at the end of every service. We also dedicate our practice during sutra services to those who suffer. This is how we practice in the realm of relative truth.

Finally, right understanding, the last guidance of the eightfold path, is the profound realization of the exact equality of emptiness and form, ending all suffering and distress (Heart Sutra). This understanding is the highest wisdom which sees the ultimate reality. According to Buddhism there are two sorts of understanding. What we generally call understanding is knowledge, an accumulated memory, an intellectual grasping of a subject according to certain given data, or “knowing accordingly” (Walpola Sri Rahula). I refer to this as the “relative truth.” It is important but not profound, and when we attach to particular ideas and mind-states, we project selfhood into things and lose the deeper insight of emptiness. Deep understanding is opening beyond names and labels (without excluding them). It is intimacy with beings exactly as they are. In meditation practice, we learn to relate with all ideas and compass points as provisional (meaning, they too are empty of intrinsic essence), and we practice opening beyond ideas to realize whatever is in a more intimate way. Trungpa calls this intimacy “compassion-compassion." Beyond self and other, this inherent intimacy with all beings is the deep source of compassion for all beings, without exception.

As you can see, though we do not necessarily cite the eightfold path very often in Zen, it is deeply woven into our liturgy, vows, practices, and teachings. I’ve only scratched the surface of the many ways the eightfold path manifests in Living Vow Zen. To practice Zen is to walk Buddha's noble eightfold path, and to walk the eightfold path is to vigorously abide in the destination we seek right here, right now.

Practicing Zen with Depression

All kinds of studies point to the health benefits of meditation, and as a Zen Buddhist priest, I am not surprised. I have long found meditation to be a healing salve. 

Once we taste the fruits of meditation, it can be tempting for spiritual seekers to imagine that it will save us from all forms of suffering, including sadness, anxiety, and mental illness. Using meditation to avoid pain is commonly referred to as "spiritual bypass." But we suffer more when meditation inevitably fails to relieve all pain because we feel like we must be doing it wrong. On top of feeling depressed, we end up feeling like failures in our spiritual traditions. 

But it is not a flaw of practice to feel pain. A few years after his enlightenment, Eihei Dogen, the founder of Soto Zen, may have suffered from "a depression that had been building up through... the dark times he was going through" (Zen Buddhism: A History, Japan, Heinrich Dumoulin, p.62). Hakuin's autobiographical accounts describe awakenings followed by intense periods of suffering, including feeling "abnormally weak and timid, shrinking and fear­ful in whatever I did. I felt totally drained, physically and mentally exhausted.... My eyes watered constantly" (Zen Sickness). Zen teacher Reigetsu Susan Moon has also written extensively about her struggles with depression. And like my mother before me, I’ve experienced dysthymia for stretches of my life. This darkness sometimes feels like a cave of grief. If you are a Zen practitioner who suffers, you are not alone.

I am a Soto Zen priest in Dogen's line, and the emphasized practice in our tradition is a meditation practice called shikantaza. In shikantaza, we sit still, stop talking, and pay attention to whatever arises. Shikantaza, or silent illumination, allows us to open our hearts to life just as it is and recognize our intimacy with all beings, including our pain. Rather than avoid, we turn toward whatever is arising and open our hearts to things as they are. Acceptance of our condition gives birth to compassion. This is no small thing. 

But a complete Zen practice also includes mindfully using skillful means to alleviate suffering in ourselves and in the world. The practices of opening our hearts to things as they are and taking action to improve things may seem contradictory, but they are actually complementary. Bearing witness and practicing skillful means are like the foot before and the foot behind in walking, and a complete Zen practice includes both.

Bearing witness

 

In Zen practice, the first step is to see what is present. From this perspective, whatever arises is a dharma gate. As James Ford writes, "We are completely subject to the vicissitudes of our lives. Zen is not an escape hatch from this. This is the field of enlightenment." Rumi writes, "Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor... invite them in."

Just acknowledging pain can be a relief. Giving ourselves and others permission to be exactly as we are in any given moment is the heart of compassion and opens the door for us to respond with loving kindness. It also invites more openness and curiosity about our experience. 

If depression is severe, it may be counter-productive to meditate. It may be necessary to seek medical attention and postpone practice until symptoms are reduced.* But in my experience, meditating has been beneficial. 

 

In meditation, without trying to control our experience, we compassionately attend whatever arises as a dharma gate, as an opportunity to comprehend the true nature of phenomena. In nondualistic compassion, beyond "is" and "is not," the emptiness of phenomena is revealed. 

As we pay attention, we first might notice our thoughts. For example, we might think that our situation is hopeless and that life is meaningless. Especially while depressed, our thoughts often become sticky as shameful senses of self arise. We may think, "I am a failure," identifying with our feelings. Meditation brings this subtle identification with feeling states into awareness. 

Curiosity helps release our identification with thoughts. We do not need to manipulate the content of our thoughts while meditating. In paying attention without investing in or pushing away anything, we see that even painful thoughts and senses of self come and go. We notice the space between thoughts and begin to recognize thoughts as thoughts rather than as the absolute truth, and this opens up some space between the brain and the skull. "Opening the hand of thought" allows new possibilities to arise. 

For example, we may diagnose ourselves as depressed, but what is depression? Thinking that we already know the answer can exacerbate our suffering. We may think of depression as a static "thing" or mental state that cannot shift or change, especially when we identify with it. One practice is to drop the hwadu, "what is this?" into our meditation and look beyond our thoughts into the sensations of our body for what is actually present. 

We'll likely notice a set of feelings that we associate with depression, but it is important to keep paying attention. For me, one sensation is something like a slowly shape-shifting, dark cloud in my brain. This thick fog pressures and heats my skull. There can also be a heaviness in my heart, hollowness in my gut, and pressure behind my eyes, like I might cry at any moment. But with close attention at the cellular level, I see that sensations keep changing moment after moment. The way I'd describe my experience one second is not exactly the same the next. In opening awareness and seeing that thoughts and even senses of self are ever-changing, we can viscerally experience that depression has no fixed essence. Everything changes. Depression is not a constant expression of some underlying, permanent self. When we are suffering, recognizing impermanence is a relief. 

While sitting upright in the midst of depression, we may also be relieved to see that the fog of melancholia is interpenetrated by the sensory world. Depression is not a solid barrier. It is murky but “translucent.” It is not a wall separating us from the world, but we only comprehend this by looking into that which we hate: the darkness. In actually looking, the landscape of life also emerges, like faint moonlight through clouds. It might be the sensation of the breath, a birdsong, the sound of rain, or a honking truck that opens our awareness. 

Sometimes we describe this openness as "creating a bigger container," but we do not actually create this container. It already exists. We just notice what is already present. Though our narratives tell us otherwise, our inner life is inseparable from the wider landscape of this sensory world. There is only an imaginary line between inside and outside, between self and other, and our intimacy with all beings is no small comfort. Even when we think we are alone, we are held by the boundless universe, and the universe resides in our hearts. 

 

As the koan says, "the clearly enlightened person falls into a well." Falling is an opportunity to awaken again. Everything is changing before our very eyes, there is nothing that we can possess forever, and falling releases us from our attachments, the very ones that have made us suffer again and again. While falling, we can open our eyes to the way things are in this very moment of descent and maybe even pluck a strawberry on the way down.

But there is also the deep, dark depth of a well. And though we may surrender, stay curious, and even appreciate the suchness of cold stone walls, sometimes depression feels relentless. The persistence of depression is not an indicator of a failed practice. While wide awake, we can be trapped in a well! In such circumstances, we may need to do more than meditate to take care of ourselves. When hungry, we eat. When tired, we sleep. When depressed, we employ skillful means to alleviate suffering. This too may be part of an awakened life.

 

Practicing skillful means

 

For me, when depression arises, it is helpful to bow, to accept the guest who is with me in the moment, and to offer a compassionate response. Though it may feel like my fault, I remind myself that nobody is at fault. There is no first cause. This is just how it is, the result of causes and conditions beyond counting. 

 

In these moments, faith sustains me -- faith that even depression is without fixed essence, faith that all things change, and faith in something bigger than my limited karmic self. We don't only save all beings but are saved by all beings. The universe is always holding us compassionately, and we are manifestations of its infinite presence. Like Buddha during the night before his enlightenment, we can touch the earth and feel it supporting us, moment after moment, even in our darkest hours. We can even cry out to this universe to save us, and in the moment of our cry, the universe responds, and the cry itself is the voice of Buddha. 

 

We should not pretend that meditating will cure medical illnesses. It would be absurd to tell someone suffering with diabetes or cancer that meditating would cure them. I would not even suggest that someone suffering from a dehydration headache should meditate to make it go away. The compassionate response is to offer a glass of water. To practice skillful means is to alleviate the causes and conditions that give rise to suffering. This means being aware of our symptoms in part through meditation and mindfully trying remedies to reduce our suffering. 

Depression may have multiple causes, one of which may be biological. In such circumstances, medication may be an important part of treatment. Other skillful means may include taking "opposite action" -- doing therapeutically advised activities even though we may not want to, such as exercising, seeing a therapist, joining sangha-mates to sit or drink tea, and asking for help when hurting. For me, a combination of meditation, exercise, sleep hygiene, counseling, and light-therapy offered some relief. Rather than view these activities as in opposition to some image of "pure" Zen practice, I consider them part of my practice. 

 

Though means vary, depression is treatable. Each of us is different, but through our ongoing attention, we learn which remedies work best. Caring for depression is a compassionate practice that cultivates insight, patience, responsiveness, and loving kindness. As we continue to practice meditation and skillful means, we find that our sense of interconnectedness and compassion naturally extend to all beings with whom we intimately share this life. Caring for depression is nothing to be ashamed of. It is a powerful way to manifest our bodhisattva vow to save all beings. 

 

*Please note that clinical depression is a medical condition. This article is not intended to provide or replace treatment for those who may suffer from clinical depression or other forms of mental illness. If you are in need of help, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) to access free, 24/7 confidential service for people in suicidal crisis or emotional distress, or those around them. The Lifeline provides support, information, and local resources. You can also text the Crisis Text Line at 741-741 for free 24/7 support with a trained crisis counselor right away.