Liberation Through Non-Clinging Across Buddhist Traditions

When I first published the book One Dharma in 2003, I was grappling with a spiritual existential dilemma: what to do when great meditation masters in different traditions offer contradictory perspectives on the ultimate nature of reality. At the time, it felt as though the entire trajectory of my spiritual life hung in the balance. After months of inquiry, two simple notions resolved the issue—at least for the time being.

First, I realized that until I was fully enlightened (and perhaps not even then), I had no way of knowing which perspective was ultimately correct. I simply could not know what final liberation would reveal. Resting in this unknown proved to be a great relief. Rather than causing confusion, it allowed my mind to settle into an openness that fostered further inquiry and exploration of dharma understanding.

Second, I realized that one way to approach the diverse philosophical descriptions across traditions was to explore a common understanding of what frees the mind. My interest in this theme is spurred by the ongoing sectarian divides that persist to this day. Many traditions claim to be the best, quickest, or most authentic path to spiritual enlightenment. Bhikkhu Anālayo addresses this phenomena in his book Superiority Conceit in Buddhist Traditions.

One modern expression of this sectarianism arises in conversations about dual and nondual awareness. Just as mindfulness has gained prominence as a tool for easing suffering, both in its broad secular applications and in the deepest aspects of meditative understanding, the framework of nondual awareness has become a popular way to describe both the method and, for some, the goal of practice. At times, there is a tendency to privilege the experience of the nondual as being deeper or more complete than what are deemed dualistic practices. Ironically, this creates its own duality.

What, then, do the terms dual and nondual refer to, and is this distinction important on the path to liberation? Each of these terms can refer to a variety of experiences, and confusion often arises when the same word or phrase carries different meanings in different contexts. As in many dharma discussions, clarity in defining terms is crucial.

There are different understandings of dualistic perception: One is the perception of distinctions between this and that, between existence and nonexistence, between samsara and nirvana; the other is the experience of an observer separate from the observed. Similarly, the term nondual awareness can refer to different levels of experience. It may point to the inseparability of knowing and known (not a vague “oneness” in which all distinctions dissolve). It can refer to the Dzogchen view of mind as the union of clarity and emptiness, with nondual wisdom being their inseparability. It can also refer to the nonseparation of observer and observed.

On the surface, dual and nondual may seem like fundamentally different understandings of reality and how we perceive it. Upon further investigation, however, we may arrive at a more holistic understanding of how these two perspectives complement and support our path of practice. By emphasizing a particular perspective on experience rather than the essential qualities of a liberated mind, we risk overlooking those essential qualities across traditions.

Despite differences in understanding, there are some fundamental commonalities that capture the essence of dharma. In the Pali canon, and perhaps in later traditions as well, when the Buddha was asked what he taught, his reply was often some variation of “suffering and the end of suffering.” This is the point of it all.

The Buddha made clear in so many different ways that craving and clinging to anything at all is the cause of suffering. Most Buddhist traditions agree that liberation is experienced in the mind free of clinging—to the body, the mind, to awareness itself. The great Indian adept Tilopa expressed the importance of this to his disciple, Naropa: “It is not appearances that bind you; it is your clinging that binds you. Cut through your clinging, Naropa.”

I began to see non-clinging and its precursor, the cessation of craving, as central to liberation across nearly all Buddhist traditions, the foundation upon which different final goals may be realized. Depending on one’s particular aspiration, this might be the arahant of early Buddhism or buddhahood as taught in the later traditions.

Building on this understanding, which is succinctly expressed in the first three noble truths—suffering, its cause, and its end—we can then explore the fourth noble truth: the way to the end of suffering. If craving is the cause of suffering, and liberation is through the cessation of craving and clinging, the question then becomes how different traditions accomplish this, even when their metaphysics and end goals differ.

There are many methods for achieving non-clinging, and different doorways open to this freedom, each highlighting one particular Buddhist perspective or another. One comprehensive framework for exploring these methods is the three universal characteristics: impermanence, dukkha, and nonself. Although these characteristics are intimately connected, one or another of them may become more predominant in different traditions or for different practitioners, even as all of them are realized in the end.

Nonduality and the Teachings on Nonself

One of the liberating insights common to all Buddhist traditions is the realization of nonself (Pali, anatta): the absence of any permanent essence in this mind/body process that can be claimed as “I” or “mine.” An oft-repeated instruction in the Pali texts says to see all things with perfect wisdom: “This is not mine, this I am not, this is not myself.” In this realization, the “I” or “self” as subject disappears—or rather we realize that, except as a cognitive distortion, it was never truly there.

In many explicitly nondual practices, which are often prominent in Mahayana and Vajrayana, this nonself perspective is often emphasized. Such teachings are effective for glimpsing and deepening this realization. While impermanence (Pali, anicca) and dukkha are easily recognized and can also lead to non-clinging, nonself is such a radically unique way of understanding ourselves and the world that it can profoundly alter our practice. Yet the point is to see through the illusion of self as a way to end our suffering and not to get attached to any particular method of doing so.

Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche, one of the great Tibetan Dzogchen masters of the last century, highlighted the importance of this:

The idea of an enduring self has kept you wandering helplessly in the lower realms of samsara for countless past lifetimes. It is the very thing that now prevents you from liberating yourself and others from conditioned existence. If you could simply let go of that one thought of “I,” you would find it easy to be free, and to free others, too. Use any practice you do to dissolve this idea of “I” and the self-oriented motivations that accompany it. Even if you do not succeed in the beginning, keep trying.

Another way of understanding nonduality—one widely discussed today—is through resting in awareness as various mental objects arise. A simple example occurred for me during a walk when I heard a bird singing. Initially, there was a distinction and separation: the bird in the sky and me walking. Then, a subtle shift happened, and the experience was spontaneously expressed as a haiku:

Bird song
In the empty sky
Of mind

In that moment, all sense of separation dissolved—only birdsong remained. It was interesting to toggle between these two ways of perceiving. Using the analogy of the mind as an empty sky, one perspective emphasizes the sound itself, while the other highlights the awareness that knows it. In both cases, however, sound and knowing are present. The question, then, is not which approach is superior, but how each can support the deepening of wisdom and the freeing of the mind.

Yet here is where some confusion can arise in contemporary discussions of nonduality. While experiences like “bird song in the empty sky of mind” may offer a taste of the nondual, something essential may still be missing in terms of the practice of liberation—namely, the direct realization of the selfless, empty nature of both knowing and what is being known. It is common to be resting in awareness yet still maintain a subtle identification with the act of knowing, which sustains a preverbal sense of self. The essential point of nonduality in the context of liberation, then, is seeing through the particular duality of a “self-as-subject” knowing an object.

As we consider this meaning of nondual awareness—the collapse of this subject/object dichotomy—there are still objects being known. Although there is no self-as-subject apart from the object, two distinct processes remain: knowing and what is being known (whether one calls them objects or appearances), and these two cannot be separated. Different traditions may emphasize one aspect or the other, but in either case the reality of what is happening is the same.

An interesting reflection here is what term we would use for two distinct but inseparable things. Are they two or are they one? For example, when we see something, we perceive both color and shape; the color has shape, and the shape has color. Two distinct attributes that cannot be separated in our perception, even as we might emphasize one aspect or the other.

It might be helpful to consider “dual” and “nondual” not as metaphysical statements describing some ultimate nature but as different ways of perceiving that serve a particular end—as complementary ways of understanding that each has its own value and efficacy. Both duality and nonduality are simply modes of viewing experience, and the measure of which is appropriate at any given time is whether the outcomes are beneficial or detrimental. To this end, there is an apt phrase often used in Madhyamaka and Zen teachings that emerged from the “thunderous silence” of Vimalakirti in the sutra of the same name: “Not one, not two.”

Stabilizing the Experience of Nonduality

I recently received an email from someone who asked an extremely important question. He wrote, “I consider myself quite fortunate to experience nondual awareness, but I’ve been hung up on the endeavor of what to do now.” This raises a question that many teachers have addressed over the centuries: how to stabilize this realization so that it informs the way we live and the choices we make. It is one thing to have experiences that provide a different perspective from our usual way of perceiving the world, and another to have those experiences transform our lives in a meaningful way. Many of us are familiar with having deep insights only to easily fall back into habitual modes of perception and understanding.

Mindfulness

The question then becomes: How to proceed? How do we practice stabilizing our glimpses of selfless awareness? We begin by strengthening the quality of mindfulness. Unless we have trained ourselves to observe our minds and what happens within them, we may not realize just how prevalent the continuous streams of thought are throughout the day. The effect of these unnoticed thoughts on the mind can be compared to a movie soundtrack. Often, we are hardly aware of it, being totally engrossed in the storyline. Yet the soundtrack is designed to manipulate our feelings in various ways—happy, tense, frightened, amused—all conditioned by a process we hardly notice.

Through practice, particularly in sessions of formal meditation, we may become somewhat adept at recognizing dramatic thoughts, those with a particular emotional charge. But much more frequently there are light thoughts that are brief and hardly leave a trace. While doing walking meditation on one recent retreat, I began to pay particular attention to these light and quickly passing thoughts. I was surprised to realize how often they arose and how many of them referenced a sense of self: a memory, a plan, a comment, or a judgment. It became clear that each time I was lost in one of these ephemeral thoughts, I was reinforcing a felt sense of self.

Dudjom Rinpoche, one of the most highly revered Dzogchen masters of the 20th century, wrote in A Heart-Jewel for the Fortunate:

When you are meditating, it is easy to identify your coarse thoughts when they arise suddenly. But until a few of your subtle thoughts have arisen and are recognized, you do not know that they are there. These are called “undercurrents of thought.” They are the sneaky thieves of meditation, and for that reason it is very important to post the guard of mindfulness.

All traditions teach the importance of cultivating and strengthening mindfulness. The Pali canon underscores the critical role of mindfulness in the well-known opening of the Satipatthana Sutta:

Bhikkhus, this is the direct path for the purification of beings, for the surmounting of sorrow and lamentation, for the disappearance of pain and grief, for the attainment of the true way, for the realization of nibbana—namely, the four foundations of mindfulness.

Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche likewise highlights the importance of cultivating mindfulness in his commentary on The Lamp that Dispels Darkness:

Let the mind remain in a relaxed and open state. . . . Just as a young child cannot be left on its own but needs the constant attention of his parents so he won’t get lost, mindfulness is necessary so that the mind does not get lost in distraction. Mindfulness is not something that is acquired right away; perseverance is needed. It is necessary to be mindful not only while resting in the state of meditative evenness, but that mindfulness needs to be kept in any circumstances. While eating, while walking, etc., it is important to be constantly alert and vigilant in watching the condition of the mind.

Rinpoche continues:

So do not be satisfied by a mere glimpse of awareness but allow it to become unchangingly present. This is achieved through mindfulness and vigilance. At the beginning, vigilance means to pay constant attention to one’s state of mind, examining whether the mind is distracted or not from the recognition of awareness. This is a somewhat fabricated or contrived mindfulness. Mindfulness will develop gradually. . . . When the point is reached where a thought of desire or aversion arises, awareness is there at the same time, without having to purposefully arouse it. That is uncontrived, absolute mindfulness. At this stage, all thoughts will be liberated as they arise.

These thoughts are often some expressions of “I am,” which in Pali is called mana, referring to the mind comparing oneself with others in one way or another or imagining oneself over time. Of note, mana is not uprooted from the mindstream until full enlightenment, so we do want to be mindful of it.

As mindfulness strengthens, we also become more aware of mental hindrances—desire, aversion, sloth and torpor, restlessness, and doubt. They are called hindrances because they obstruct the mind from developing wise discernment and concentration. Being mindful of these hindrances becomes a skillful and effective way of not being overcome by them.

Concentration

Along with mindfulness, concentration plays a critical role in stabilizing our understanding and realization of selfless nonduality. When concentration develops, it keeps the hindrances at bay, enabling us to see more clearly and explore more profoundly various aspects of the dharma.

The Buddha highlighted the necessity of developing concentration in one verse in the Dhammapada: “There can be no concentration in one who lacks wisdom. There can be no wisdom in one who lacks concentration. He who has concentration as well as wisdom is, indeed, close to nibbana.”

In a striking passage from the Pali canon, the Buddha tells Kassapa, one of his great disciples, about what leads to the longevity of the dharma: dwelling with reverence toward the Buddha, the dharma, the sangha, toward the training, and toward concentration—and how the absence of these five things leads to its decay. When I first came across this passage, I was surprised that of all the different mental qualities the Buddha might have mentioned with regard to a matter of such great import—the longevity of the teachings—he singled out concentration as being a key essential element for stabilizing awareness.

Other Paths of Practice that Cultivate Nonduality

Many paths of practice may not explicitly emphasize nonduality, yet may lead to that understanding, even if it is described as “selflessness” or “emptiness of self.” Although the explicit term nonduality gained prominence in early Mahayana Prajnaparamita texts (1st century BCE–1st century CE), several hundred years after the Buddha lived, the experience it points to is already present in the well-known Bahiya Sutta from the Pali canon:

Then, Bahiya, you should train yourself thus:
In the seen there will be merely the seen;
in the heard, merely the heard;
in the sensed, merely the sensed;
in the cognized, merely the cognized.
That is how you should train yourself.
When, Bahiya, for you in the seen there is merely the seen . . .
then, Bahiya, you will not be with that. 
When you are not with that, you will not be in that,
When you are not in that,
then you will be neither here nor beyond nor in between the two.
Just this is the end of suffering.

Perhaps the term selflessness, then, more clearly reflects what the state of liberative nonduality reveals.

Right Effort

This raises interesting questions about different modes of practice. H.H. the Dalai Lama has recounted how even Milarepa, one of the greatest Tibetan yogis, faced tremendous difficulties and needed arduous effort over many years to attain complete enlightenment. In vipassana practice, significant emphasis is placed on mindfulness of the body, as it is the first of the four foundations of mindfulness the Buddha declared to be the direct path to awakening. Some teachers in this tradition emphasize the importance of strong effort to penetrate the object of meditation as a means of going beyond our conceptual understanding of it. However, this strong effort can sometimes reinforce the sense of someone actively exerting that effort.

Effortless Awareness

But even within methods that emphasize strong effort, proper practice naturally leads to a state of effortless awareness. From this state, the mind can open to what is called “gaining the vision of the dharma,” or the “opening of the dharma eye.” That marks the point at which the belief in self has been completely uprooted.

A salient point emerges here in both vipassana and explicitly nondual practices: how to rest in effortless awareness (however we arrive there) without identifying with that awareness, without making awareness the home of self, the last hold-out of “I.” Sometimes awareness feels boundless and centerless, yet this too can mask a subtle identification with self. Even in this wonderfully expansive state, there can be a subtle identification with awareness or a faint sense of someone experiencing it.

Mahasi Sayadaw, a renowned vipassana meditation master of the 20th century, highlighted one aspect of this in his talk “The Purification and Progress of Insight”:

At times there is nothing to note, with the body disappearing and the sense of touch lost. However, at this moment, knowing consciousness is still apparent. In the very clear, open space of the sky there remains only one very clear, blissful consciousness, which is very clear beyond comparison and very blissful. The yogi tends to delight in such clear, blissful consciousness. But this consciousness is not going to stay permanent. . . . It has to be noticed as “knowing, knowing.”

We see the same caution about identification with awareness in Dzogchen and other nondual traditions as well. In Dzogchen and Mahamudra, although using different terminology, the fundamental nature of mind is expressed as the union of clarity and emptiness. Thrangu Rinpoche observed that the nature of mind is sometimes obscured because the clarity aspect (knowing) obscures the emptiness aspect. Mingyur Rinpoche elaborated on this, emphasizing that the teaching in both is not to reify the awareness as self nor to perceive objects as having independent, substantial existence. Khyentse Rinpoche makes the same point: “Those who cling to the lucid or to the void aspect of the mind are caught in dualistic attachment to subject and object.” 

In any instruction to rest in awareness, we need to understand that awareness implies recognizing its empty nature as well as its lucid aspect—and not getting attached to emptiness is equally important. Nagarjuna, one of the greatest of the Indian adepts, warns that even the view of emptiness can become a trap when grasped as a view. He writes, “It is sad to see those who mistakenly believe in material, concrete reality, but far more pitiful are those who are attached to emptiness.”

The question then arises: How do we cut through this subtle identification with the knowing capacity of mind, with awareness itself? At one point in my practice, a simple linguistic shift became a pathway for cutting through this identification. By changing how we language our experience (even silently to ourselves) from the active voice to the passive voice, we can settle effortlessly into a receptive, selfless mode.

For example, we usually think of what we’re doing in the active voice: “I’m moving, I’m thinking, I’m hearing.” In the passive voice, this might become: “Movement being known, thought being known, sounds being known.” This shift is striking because the “I” is no longer the subject of the action. Instead, things simply arise and are known effortlessly without a sense of self. As the Austrian philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein noted, much philosophy is “a shadow cast by grammar”; our language habits easily conjure a “self” behind experience.

The Buddha gave a succinct and powerful teaching on this in his discourse, The All. In this sutta, he described the totality of our experience in just six concise phrases: “the eye and visible objects, the ear and sounds, the nose and odors, the tongue and tastes, the body and tactile objects, the mind and mental phenomena.” By being mindful of these six categories as being known, we gain glimpses—and sometimes sustained experiences—of selflessness, of empty phenomena rolling on.

To deepen this experience of selflessness, we can then ask the simple yet profound question: Known by what? In meditation, as different sounds arise, I may ask myself, Can I find what’s knowing this sound? The sound is being known—but by what? There’s nothing to find. And yet, as the Tibetan Dzogchen master Tulku Urgyen remarked, in searching for awareness, “the not finding is the finding.” This inquiry helps dissolve the subtle identification with the knowing itself, which, when unnoticed, perpetuates the felt sense of a knower.

Even after these transformative insights arise, the path continues. The 12th-century Korean Zen Master Chinul expressed this in his teachings on sudden awakening and gradual cultivation:

Although we have awakened to original nature, beginningless habit energies are extremely difficult to remove suddenly. Hindrances are formidable and habits are deeply ingrained. So how could you neglect gradual cultivation simply because of one moment of awakening? After awakening, you must constantly be on your guard. If deluded thoughts suddenly appear, do not follow after them. Then and only then will your practice reach completion.

Chinul’s follow-up reminder is equally vital:

Although you must cultivate further, you have already awakened suddenly to the fact that deluded thoughts are originally void and the mind’s nature is originally pure.

The Distortions of Perception, Mind, and View

After realizing selflessness or emptiness, some may mistakenly believe their work is finished, assuming that everything they do arises from that realization. This misconception can then become a rationale for not paying attention to the defilements that remain. Teachings in the Pali canon explain how hindrances and strong habit energies can still influence our minds, even after uprooting the belief in self. This is the teaching on the vipallasas, or the distortions of mind. The Buddha says in the Vipallasa Sutta:

These four, O Monks, are distortions of perception, distortions of thought, distortions of view. . . . Sensing no change in the changing, sensing pleasure in suffering, assuming “self” where there’s no self, sensing the unlovely as lovely.

The distortions differ in degree and consequences. Misperception, such as mistaking a rope for a snake, is easily corrected through closer observation. Distorted thought refers to the thoughts and feelings that arise from such misperceptions, which also can be remedied with careful attention. The deepest and most challenging to uproot is distortion of view, an entrenched belief that persists despite contrary evidence. This is particularly evident in deeply polarized political landscapes, where no amount of reasoning can break through attachment to certain views.

Even after the strong view of self has been uprooted, distortions of perception and thought will persist. The good news is that although these two are still operative, they are easier to dispel over time. Once we are free from the view of self, these distortions naturally diminish.

However, there is a cautionary note: Unless we recognize Chinul’s reminder about the ongoing work required, these distortions may remain unnoticed. Even those with genuine realization can fall into unskillful behavior by failing to recognize these lingering tendencies. This can foster the conceit of “I am the one who has awakened,” reinforcing a subtle sense of self.

Impermanence and Dukkha as Gateways to Nondual Awareness

Along with nonself, insight into impermanence and dukkha also open the door to the freedom of the non-clinging mind. The Buddha repeatedly emphasized the transformative power of contemplating impermanence: “When perception of impermanence is developed and cultivated it eliminates . . . all ignorance, and it uproots all conceit ‘I am.’ ”

After teaching contemplation of impermanence, the Buddha added: “Contemplating thus, one does not cling to anything in the world. When one doesn’t cling, one is not agitated. When one is not agitated, one personally attains nibbana.”

As I was sitting during one retreat, a familiar line from the Pali texts came to mind: “Whatever has the nature to arise will also pass away.” Although I had read this many times, in that moment it settled deeply into my experience. Because everything that arises must also pass away, there seemed little point in craving a new or different experience in meditation, since whatever I desired would inevitably disappear. With this understanding, the mind naturally relaxed, releasing any sense of wanting or striving. When I then turned my attention to the nature of this non-wanting mind, it was the same experience as awareness, empty of self.

The experience of dukkha can also function as a gateway to nondual awareness. My first teacher, Munindra-ji, described how, during meditation, he felt as if his entire body was being consumed by fire. It was through the intensity of this dukkha that his mind opened to the unconditioned.

Another powerful illustration involves a monk in the Buddha’s time, affectionately known as the dullard, who struggled to remember even a four-line verse of teaching. The Buddha instructed him to stand in the sun and briskly rub a white cloth in his hands. As the cloth grew soiled, the monk contemplated impermanence and the unattractive aspect of the body. This insight led to his full enlightenment through non-clinging.

In another discourse, the Timsamatta Sutta, the Buddha reminded thirty forest-dwelling bhikkhus of the beginningless cycle of rebirth, prompting their minds to be liberated by non-clinging:

Bhikkhus, this samsara is without discoverable beginning. A first point is not discerned of beings roaming and wandering on hindered by ignorance and fettered by craving. . . . Enough to be disenchanted toward all formations, enough to become dispassionate toward them, enough to be liberated from them. . . . And while this exposition was being spoken, the minds of the thirty bhikkhus were liberated from the taints by non-clinging.

In this context, the phrase empty phenomena rolling on, which emphasizes nonself, might become endless phenomena rolling on, reminding us of the liberating power that comes from deeply understanding the nature of samsara—the beginningless rounds of rebirth.

Years of dedicated forest practice had prepared the minds of these monks so well that simply listening allowed the words to carry a transformative power. The lesson here is that both teaching and listening to the dharma are themselves acts of meditation, and that awakening can arise from either. Liberation can occur through myriad insights, with practices tailored to each individual’s unique conditioning and capacity.

Integrating the Teachings from Different Practice Traditions

The question then becomes how different approaches can support each other rather than be in conflict. This integration occurs quite naturally when we realize that different systems of practice can each serve as skillful means for cultivating non-clinging—the essence of a free mind. One helpful way to understand the differences in various approaches is to reflect on the union of knowing and object. While some practices emphasize non-clinging to the object, others focus on non-clinging to the knowing itself.

A clear example of this distinction appears in the Mahamudra and Dzogchen traditions of Tibetan Buddhism. In these traditions, the nature of mind is described as the unity of emptiness and clarity (or cognizance). Although the two traditions use different terminologies and methods, their underlying essence and endpoints are the same. Mahamudra emphasizes a gradual development, initially working with the appearances in the mind, such as thoughts and sense objects, in order to recognize their empty nature. Once this recognition is stabilized, the training is to then rest in the unity of clarity and emptiness. Dzogchen, on the other hand, emphasizes a direct introduction to resting in awareness itself. Thus, even in these liberating nondual traditions, we find different emphases at various stages of practice.

We can observe similar differences in emphasis across many Buddhist traditions and lineages. Yet regardless of the particular emphasis, genuine freedom requires non-clinging to both the object (appearance) and the knowing (clarity). Each of us may be drawn to a particular path that resonates deeply, but as we learn from other traditions, we may find that different teachings become interwoven strands of practice, with each strengthening the other. Much as a rope gains its strength from multiple strands woven together, our practice can become stronger through this integration. While each tradition offers its own skillful means, a shift in perspective from another system of practice can sometimes reveal new insights that serve the ultimate goal: the end of suffering.

That said, it is important to develop some depth of experience and understanding in one practice before attempting to integrate teachings from others. Rushing this process and jumping from one method to another before establishing a solid foundation can lead to confusion and doubt. But when approached skillfully, the breadth of wisdom from different traditions can be a powerful resource as we continue on the path.

Practical Integration in Practice

This integration can unfold in many ways. Imagine, for instance, that you are practicing within a nondual frame of reference, and the mind becomes entangled in a compelling narrative about the past or future. Perhaps this narrative carries a strong emotional charge—regret, confusion, or delight. When such a story is particularly seductive it may be difficult to sustain awareness or remember nonduality as a means of release. In such moments, a simple teaching from the Buddha in the Dhammapada can be a powerful anchor: “Let go of the past, let go of the future, let go of the present and cross over to the further shore.”

This straightforward instruction is remarkably effective for returning to awareness. Letting go of thoughts about the past and their associated emotions reminds us that the past is gone and that the story is simply thoughts arising in the present. In the same way, letting go of thoughts of the imagined future, remembering it has not yet come, grounds us in immediate experience. And the final instruction, letting go even of the present, encourages us not to cling to whatever experience has emerged in dropping the past and future. This last step naturally settles the mind in spacious awareness, characteristic of Dzogchen and other nondual practices. This example illustrates how complementary teachings can skillfully reinforce each other.

The reverse can also be true: A nondual perspective can sometimes bring balance to vipassana practice. While engaged in traditional vipassana meditation or simply navigating daily life, we may get entangled in thought patterns, embroiled in some life story. At such times, recalling a nondual perspective can often disentangle the mind from attachment. A well-known story from the Chinese Chan tradition illustrates this: Huike, in a state of great suffering, beseeches Bodhidharma to pacify his mind. Bodhidharma responds, “Show me your mind, and I will pacify it.” Huike replies, “I looked for it everywhere and cannot find it.” Bodhidharma responds, “There, it is already pacified.”

Although this could be read as a classic Zen story, it points to an effective method for coming out of a self-absorbed state. At times when I find myself lost in troubling thoughts, I may remember this exchange and quietly remind myself, “Already pacified.” In those moments, the mind naturally settles into peace.

Nondual frameworks can similarly support vipassana practice in balancing our efforts. While on retreat with Sayadaw U Pandita, a revered teacher immersed in classical Theravada teachings on the progressive stages of insight, I found myself pushing too hard, caught in the wanting mind. When I recognized this, I reminded myself, “Already aware, there’s nothing to do.” This simple phrase, echoing Dzogchen’s relaxed awareness, released the tension of unskillful striving and allowed my vipassana practice to continue with ease.

We are fortunate to live in a time when these varied teachings are accessible. Each teaching style has its unique strengths, and these examples illustrate how different styles of practice can complement one another. It is not a matter of one path being superior but of recognizing that all are skillful means for cultivating non-clinging, the essential path to the end of suffering. Even as we pursue our particular paths of practice, we have the opportunity to genuinely honor and learn from them all.

Acknowledging Differences

Although liberation through non-clinging is at the heart of most Buddhist traditions and serves as the foundation for realizing different aspirations, there are some fundamental differences of understanding about the ultimate nature of reality.

For example, the terms nibbana and nirvana have different meanings in early Buddhism compared to later traditions. In the Pali canon, nibbana is described as the unconditioned, experienced as the cessation of craving and clinging, beyond all conditioned phenomena. It entirely transcends samsara, not as a place but as freedom from the cycle of birth and death. In contrast, the nature of mind teachings in Dzogchen describe ultimate reality as the inseparability of awareness and emptiness. In this view, samsara and nirvana are said to be “one in basis, different in recognition”: The nature of mind is the same—obscuration vs. recognition makes the difference. This distinction carries significant implications for the understanding of buddhahood itself.

In early Buddhism, the Buddha is regarded as a historical figure who attained supreme enlightenment through his own efforts. He famously declared, “Unshakeable is the liberation of my mind. This is my last birth. Now there is no more renewed existence.”

Later Mahayana and Vajrayana traditions describe the Buddha as a transcendent cosmic principle manifesting through three bodies: the dharmakaya (truth body), which is the nature of ultimate reality beyond form; the sambhogakaya (bliss body), the subtle dimension of enlightened presence accessible to advanced bodhisattvas; and the nirmanakaya (emanation body), in which Buddha appears in human form in this world. These traditions teach that multiple buddhas exist in different realms, working to alleviate the suffering of beings.

What does this mean, then, for our own practice? Despite these quite different views of buddhahood and the ultimate goal, both approaches aim to reveal the nature of reality and support awakening. For me, this inquiry has led to the realization that at this point in my understanding, I simply cannot know which view is ultimately true—or even if that is the right question. Perhaps each framework of understanding serves the unique needs and aspirations of different practitioners.

Some find it best to follow a single tradition exclusively, while others, like me, after being well-established in one practice, then draw inspiration from multiple traditions, finding strength in their common roots. When asked what I practice, my response is simple: I practice not clinging to anything as being “I” or “mine,” and then wait to see where that leads.

A Moment Beyond Tradition

Sometimes a single moment can capture the essence of what many words are trying to convey. In the 1970s, during the annual three-month retreat at the Insight Meditation Society, we hosted Dipa Ma, one of our most revered and beloved teachers. She had extraordinary attainments in vipassana practice and various stages of enlightenment, along with mastery of all the various levels of concentration and the siddhis, or powers, which can arise from those practices. When asked what her mind was like, she replied, “There is concentration, peace, and love.” We all felt that in her presence—a vast emptiness and boundless love.

We also had the good fortune during that retreat to host a visit by H.H. the Sixteenth Karmapa, one of the greatest Tibetan Buddhist masters of the last century. His Holiness was giving a talk and blessings in the meditation hall, seated on a high brocade-covered seat, as is customary for a high lama giving teachings. After his talk, the Karmapa touched each of us with a ritual whisk in blessing. When Dipa Ma stepped forward, however, he took her head in his hands and touched foreheads, a Tibetan gesture of respect and deep connection. Although they had never met, there seemed to be a profound recognition of the vast inner dharma realm they shared. Even though they had each mastered different practices and traditions, in that moment it felt like a mutual recognition of the boundless emptiness and love at the heart of their realization. While I could only imagine the depth of their understanding, that moment seemed to transcend differences in methods and viewpoints—an inspiring aspiration for us all.

Listen to Joseph Goldstein discuss this article on a recent episode of Tricycle Talks.