Joy on Demand: The Art of Discovering the Happiness Within

by Chade-Meng Tan

If we think joy comes only from buying stuff, consuming stuff, becoming a sleazy tycoon, or running for president after becoming a sleazy tycoon, then joy will be elusive.

1. Confidence arising from knowing 2. Confidence arising from equanimity 3. Confidence arising from resilience

the renowned Indian Buddhist master Kamalashila is believed to have said, “If you temper your heart with loving-kindness, and prepare it like a fertile soil, and then plant the seed of compassion, it will greatly flourish.”

Brahmavihara literally means “supreme abode,” but the most common English translation I’ve seen is “the four sublime states.”

The first is the type of affection that keeps you compulsively thirsting for more, almost like an addiction. In loving-kindness, the absence of the other person does not lead to pain, agitation, or thirst, because if it does, it is clinging, not loving-kindness.

The second near enemy is conditional love, or affection that depends on whether the other person exists in a certain way, does certain things, or provides you with a certain set of sensory or ego pleasures.

In contrast, the type of grief that causes helplessness, despair, and powerlessness is unhealthy. It needs to be transformed into healthy sadness for compassion to properly function. The second near enemy of compassion is pity. To pity somebody necessarily (and often unconsciously) means you are putting yourself above that person, and that (often unconsciously and insidiously) reinforces an unhealthy ego.

Altruistic joy has two near enemies. The first is the type of joy for others that is tinged with identification of “I,” “me,” or “mine.”

The second near enemy of altruistic joy is rejoicing in the unwholesome joy of others (and also of self, for that matter).

Equanimity has two near enemies. The first is disengagement, when we simply ignore what we do not want to see. The second near enemy of equanimity is apathy.

In the beginning, there is only self, there is no other. And then, there is self, and there is other. Later on, self and other are one, there is no separation. Finally, there is no self, there is only other.

The mind is like the sky, and thoughts are like clouds in the sky—the clouds are not the sky. Similarly, these thoughts are not the mind—they are not me.

Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh poetically says, “The real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don’t even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child—our own two eyes. All is a miracle.”