In this talk, Gullu Singh explore the Buddha’s teachings on mindfulness of the body, from noticing our posture and everyday activities to contemplating the natural elements that make up our physical experience. Through reflections on earth, water, fire, air, and space, we begin to see how our bodies are constantly changing and deeply connected to the world around us. We also explore how remembering the impermanence of life can help us appreciate the preciousness of each moment, and to recognize that we are part of something much larger than ourselves.
The seminal teaching of the Buddha, the Satipatthana Sutta, the Discourse on Mindfulness, is an amazing 2,500-year-old text that is a step-by-step manual for how to practice meditation.
Several different practices are given just with regard to the body. Each is considered a whole practice unto itself, that can lead to complete freedom from all affliction.
Anapanasati, the practice mindfulness of the breath, is probably the most popular of the mindfulness of the body practices.
But there’s also mindfulness of posture. You can know that you’re sitting, that you’re standing, that you’re walking, or that you’re lying down.
Posture in meditation can be quite diagnostic: for instance, fatigue shows up in the posture. Having too much energy shows up in the posture. Subtle hints of aversion and clinging show up in the posture. Habits of the mind also show up in the posture.
I myself lean forward so much in my daily life that when I try to find the actual point of alignment, it actually feels like I’m leaning back slightly.
Mindfulness of posture is also something we can practice in motion. We commonly think of meditation often as sitting, eyes closed; but you can practice mindfulness of posture as you’re moving around the world.
For me, it’s really helpful to create a sense of being in the body. As someone who’s had a very cerebral profession for a lot of years, I find that energy gets concentrated in my head.
For years, I had a little Post-it note on my monitor that said, “Remember you have a body.”
And it was very helpful.
Another way to practice mindfulness of the body is clear comprehension in activities. Going forward, going backward, bending, stretching, eating, dressing, even urinating and defecating. It’s a practice of bringing mindfulness to every activity of our day.
When we talk about mindfulness in this way, we’re talking about not just being aware. That’s part of it, but also being aware that you’re aware.
The analogy I always use is the difference between being in a car, driving from one place to another, and then having no recollection of how you got there. You don’t remember any of the turns because you were lost in thought essentially that whole time.
Awareness was still present because you made it. You probably more or less followed the traffic rules and the speed limit and didn’t crash into another car.
But you weren’t aware that you were aware.
When we have that sort of autopilot awareness, there’s no agency. There’s no interaction with what’s happening in the present moment. We’re living in a virtual reality in our mind.
Clear comprehension in activities is popping that bubble of being lost in thought. As we’re going through activities, we’re more engaged, often with senses.
Drinking a cup of tea, you really feel the warmth. When you put it to your mouth, you actually are present for the experience of tasting it.
The predominant experience I have with meals is, like, “Who ate my lunch?”
It’s there, and then it’s gone, and I was not there for that experience.
Another way of practicing mindfulness of the body is reflection on the 32 parts of the body.
Sometimes this is called meditation on the repulsiveness of the body because you contemplate things like bile, phlegm, pus, blood, sweat, fat, mucus.
This practice helps us with over-attachment or over-identification with the body.
They use this analogy that the body is like a sack of seeds. There are different kinds of seeds, and this thing that we take so personally is just a collection of these mundane parts.
It’s also good if you’re in a monastic setting and practicing celibacy, because you can think of your object of affection as bile, phlegm, pus, blood, sweat, fat. That kind of ruins the mood.
Then there are the charnel ground contemplations, reflections on a corpse in various stages of decay.
That sounds very morose to our Western sensibility, but I had the privilege to attend, and later teach on, a retreat where the whole theme was mindfulness of death. And reflections on death, paradoxically, bring joy.
I’ve done it many times, and it still seems puzzling to me. But part of it is that when you keep death close to mind, it evokes the preciousness of life.
There’s a famous chant that I did probably almost every day for over a decade:
“I’m of the nature to age, I have not gone beyond aging. I’m of the nature to sicken, I have not gone beyond sickness. I am of the nature to die, I have not gone beyond dying. All that is mine, beloved and pleasing, will soon be otherwise, will be separated from me.”
It sounds a little depressing, but it’s the reality of being in this samsaric realm. Nothing lasts. Everything’s always changing.
And then it pivots. The last of the chants is:
“I’m the owner of my karma, heir of my karma, born of my karma, supported by my karma. Whatever karma I shall do for good or for ill, of that I shall be the heir.”
In many ways, the central question that the Buddha left a life of luxury to try to solve was: How does one live in a realm where we are all subject to decay?
And it hinges on that last chant.
Karma, the way the Buddha used that term, means action. It’s not the colloquial way we use the word karma. It’s more so the things that we say, do, and think.
The idea is that everything we say, do, and think has some impact. So much of the practice is developing some stewardship over our body, speech, and mind.
There’s an app I have on my phone called WeCroak. Five times a day, I get a notification on my watch, and the notification is just:
“Don’t forget, you’re gonna die.”
And every time I see that, something in me relaxes.
Whatever tension is in that moment, whatever argument or complaint or drama is unfolding, it suddenly becomes inconsequential. In the face of the fact that we have limited moments, how do I want to spend these moments?
There’s another mindfulness of the body practice in the Buddhist teachings that I particularly like, which is mindfulness of the elements.
In a teaching to his son Rahula, the Buddha describes the elements of the body—earth, water, fire, air, and space—and invites us to contemplate them.
He begins with the earth element.
“The interior earth element is anything that’s internal, personal, that’s hard, solid, and appropriated.”
This includes head hair, body hair, nails, teeth, skin, flesh, sinews, bone, bone marrow, kidneys, heart, liver, diaphragm, spleen, lungs, intestines, undigested food, feces, or anything else internal that’s hard and solid.
But the key teaching is that the internal earth element and the external earth element are both earth element.
When you see this with right understanding, you know: “This is not mine, I am not this, this is not myself.”
This is what I find so interesting. This mundane practice of feeling the hardness of the body, places of contact, solidity, is really a teaching about not-self.
Really a teaching about: Where is the boundary between earth element inside and earth element outside?
And what is the water element?
The interior water element is anything internal that’s watery. Bile, phlegm, pus, fat, sweat, tears, grease, saliva, snot, synovial fluid, urine.
The interior water element and the exterior water element are just water element.
When you see this with right understanding, you understand: “This is not mine, I am not this, this is not myself.”
Then there’s the fire element.
It includes that which warms, that which ages, that which heats you up when feverish, that which properly digests food and drink.
Again, when you see this, you understand: “This is not mine, I am not this, this is not myself.”
It’s very easy to think of this body, the way I experience it, as being mine.
But if I think of the bones as being calcium that came from the earth, does it really feel so personal?
The air element includes winds that go up and down, winds in the belly or bowels, winds that flow through the limbs, in-breaths and out-breaths.
When truly seen with right understanding: “This is not mine, I am not this, this is not myself.”
And then there’s the space element.
The space element may be interior or exterior. This includes the ear canals, nostrils, and mouth, the space for swallowing what is eaten and drunk, the space where it stays.
When seen with right understanding: “This is not mine, I am not this, this is not myself.”
The Buddha then goes on to say: “Rahula, meditate like the earth.”
“When you meditate like the earth, pleasant and unpleasant contacts will not occupy your mind. Suppose you were to toss both clean and unclean things on the earth. The earth isn’t horrified, repelled, or disgusted because of this. In the same way, meditate like the earth. When you meditate like the earth, pleasant and unpleasant contacts will not occupy the mind.”
And then: “Meditate like water.”
When you meditate like water, pleasant and unpleasant contacts will not occupy the mind. Suppose you were to wash both clean and unclean things in the water. The water isn’t horrified, disgusted, or repelled because of this.
“Meditate like fire.”
Suppose a fire were to burn clean and unclean things. The fire isn’t horrified, repelled, or disgusted because of this.
And the same thing with wind. The same thing with space.
There are many ways of dividing up this organism that we perceive as ourselves, different ways of labeling aspects of experience.
Mindfulness of the elements is one I particularly like, because we can see these elements more or less easily in ourselves, and very easily all around us.
Everything in a room can be understood in terms of the four elements. Much of it tends to be earth. But there’s also the coolness in the air, and illumination, maybe some version of fire.
The elements aren’t just something within us. They’re everywhere around us.
Thich Nhat Hanh says: “I see that this body, made up of the four elements, is not really me. And I am not limited by this body. I am part of the stream of life, of spiritual and blood ancestors. I am the whole of this river of life.”
It all kind of comes back to the contemplation of death. While we’re alive, we can contemplate: Where does this body begin and end?
Is the calcium in your bones different from the calcium in mine? It all comes from the earth.
We’re constantly taking in nourishment and excreting things. The composition of our body is constantly changing.
There’s this interdependent way that we count on the earth to support us.And then, when it’s all over, it all gets recycled.
I came across a quote—I didn’t write down who said it—but it captures this contemplation beautifully:
“The body isn’t a separate fortress, it’s a temporary gathering of elements borrowed from everywhere else.”
This is what mindfulness of the body can help us begin to see.
The body that we experience as so personal, so much mine, is part of something much larger. Its elements are the same elements we encounter throughout the world. They come together, change, and eventually return.
And in recognizing this, we can begin to loosen our attachment to the body as something fixed or separate.
We can remember that everything is changing, that our moments are limited, and that the way we live those moments matters.
Thank you for reading,
Gullu Singh
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