“While it is always best to believe in oneself, a little help from others can be a great blessing.”

I have long found Iroh to be the character in Avatar the most worthy of emulation. Part of me assumes everyone recognizes him as the best character on the show, but I might be falling victim to the typical mind fallacy. In any case, Iroh exemplifies all four of the bramavihāras, virtuous mind states known as the four immeasurables. They are as follows:

• Love* (mettā)
• Compassion (karuṇā)
• Empathetic joy (muditā)
• Equanimity (upekkhā)

Love and compassion go hand-in-hand. Love, wishing the best for others, makes us aware of and attuned to the suffering of others. Compassion arises only after one is aware of the suffering of others; it is the desire to relieve that suffering.

Traveling with Iroh is the character that suffers most in the show: Zuko. In fact, Zuko’s psychic struggles and personal growth so far eclipse those of any other character in the series that it makes just as much sense to consider Airbender a coming of age story of a fallen prince as it does a story about the Avatar’s quest for global salvation.

In Book 2, Chapter 1: Avatar Day, Zuko is traveling in exile from the Fire Nation, not yet considered to be a traitor. Princess Azula, his sister, visits to invite him back home in what Iroh can clearly see is a treacherous plot. Iroh tries to temper his nephew’s excitement, but is met with indignant retaliation.

Zuko: Did you listen to Azula? Father’s realized how important family is to him. He cares about me!
Iroh: I care about you! And if Ozai wants you back, well, I think it may not be for the reasons you imagine.
Zuko: You don’t know how my father feels about me. You don’t know anything.
Iroh: Zuko, I only meant that in our family, things are not always what they seem.
Zuko: I think you’re exactly what you seem: a lazy, mistrustful, shallow old man who’s always been jealous of his brother.

The suffering of both characters is palpable in this scene. Coming from a culture that places a high value on honor and a dynastic regime that depends on the strength of familial bonds, Zuko’s formal banishment by his own father is the embodiment of the lack of paternal love he’s longed for his whole life. Desperate for love, Zuko is willing to believe anything if it could mean being accepted by his father.

Zuko’s words sting Iroh has as brutally as they are fired. Being called fat and lazy is likely to bounce off Iroh easily. He knows who he is, enjoys leisure when he can find it, and is unapologetic about it. But the comment about his brother must hurt. A few episodes later, we learn more about Iroh’s past, and the three great tragedies that arrived in rapid succession: the death of his son, his great military defeat, and the loss of his royal inheritance as future Fire Lord. In an act of treachery during Iroh’s lowest point, Ozai usurped the throne. Even if the grieving Iroh was no longer attached to being Fire Lord, such a betrayal from one’s closest living kin would leave a wound that lasts a lifetime. Iroh has given up his life to travel with his exiled nephew, loving and caring for him like the son he lost, only to have that lifelong wound prodded and poked at.

As I write this, my home community of Twin Oaks is in the midst of several internal controversies. Such is the nature of the living together; I’ve come to expect about one major drama per year. I’m currently serving a term as a member of our community planners, our central governing body. This offers me the stressful but illuminating experience of hearing perspectives from many sides of the issues at hand. In doing so, one thing is made abundantly clear to me: people are full of so much suffering. It’s hard being a steward of the community, knowing that whatever the outcome is, there will be individuals hurt, angry, and scarred by our social shortcomings. It’s also hard to act compassionately when the hurt and anger comes out as an attack. It’s hard not to retaliate, protecting one’s honor and ego. It’s hard to live with an insult, or let falsities stand. But it is in these moments that we have the greatest opportunity for compassion. It is in these moments that people nakedly reveal the suffering they live with day to day. By lashing out, they give one the opportunity to feel a taste of the pain they bear.

Sometimes I wish I could just tell everyone I live with to meditate every day. It’s been such a life-changing practice for me, and while I still bear mountains of suffering, I cannot stress enough how light a load I carry compared to a year past. I feel that if people would sit and diligently engage with their experience, they would quickly see its transformative power. I’m a bit like a carpenter with only a hammer: everything looks like a nail. And every bit of suffering I see looks so temptingly like it can be removed through meditation. If the major Buddhist traditions are to be taken seriously, then every bit of suffering can be removed in such a fashion. However, it’s not going to happen that way. People find the path their own way, and many never find such a path at all. I want to be open about my practice and let people know how valuable I find it, but for those who don’t want it (or don’t want it now), my insistence that meditation can lead to the end of suffering will bear no fruit. Instead, I can engage with the world around me to relieve what suffering I can in the conventional ways. Right action, right livelihood, right intention, and so on. I can listen and understand, and make the decisions that best take care of people. I can remain steadfast in love and compassion.

Iroh maintains steadfast to his nephew. He joins Zuko to board Azula’s ship, knowing full well that he is boarding as a prisoner. He answers Zuko’s insult with compassion, knowing that what he needs more anything right now is someone to stick with him. It is only because Zuko has so clearly displayed his suffering to Iroh that Iroh can act with such deep compassion. Naturally, the trap is revealed and Iroh and Zuko fight side-by-side for their freedom. Iroh was on guard the whole time, able to serve his nephew in his moment of need. In this moment of support, only after getting to make the error for himself, Zuko is able to avail himself of his uncle’s boundless compassion.

* It is common to translate mettā as “loving-kindness” due to the cultural baggage and associations with craving that “love” bears. However, I am going to follow Ticht Nhat Hanh’s lead in sticking to a more literal translation and reclaiming the word “love” to mean something more noble than that.

“The best tea tastes delicious whether it comes in a porcelain pot or a tin cup.”

Meditation requires diligence and constant determination. Keeping up a practice is filled with many obstacles. The vicissitudes of life batter us unceasingly, bringing up surprises that make our best laid plans fall to pieces. We get ill unexpectedly, and aging and death loom over us at all times. The spiritual path itself throws its own wrenches into the mix. According to the traditional map of spiritual development known as the Progress of Insight, directly apprehending the impermanence of experience, the arising and passing away of all phenomena, is immediately followed by a series of developmental stages that have been come to be known by many in the West as the Dark Night. The peaceful and euphoric states we may have previously achieved can seem to fade as our new awareness calls into question the stability of everything that we hold dear. With a life full of obstacles and uncertainty, how is one to deal?

The basic principles of earthbending offer a simple solution: face it head on. In Book 2, Chapter 9: Bitter Work, Aang begins his earthbending training under the harsh (sadistic?) Toph. Aang fails his initial earthbending challenge, and begins to seek alternatives.

Ang: Maybe there’s another way. What if I came at the boulder from a different angle?
Toph: No, that’s the problem. You’ve got to stop thinking like an airbender. There’s no different angle, no clever solution, no trickety-trick that’s gonna’ move that rock. You’ve gotta’ face it head on.

After some training, Toph gives a blindfolded Aang the challenge of stopping a boulder as it rolls downhill. Unable to hold his ground, he jumps out of its path at the last minute. Toph doesn’t let him live this down. She taunts him relentlessly. Earthbending training halts. Aang is dejected.

When meditating, it can be all too tempting to ignore the unpleasant sensations and focus on the pleasant ones, jumping out of the way of the metaphorical boulders rolling toward us. I often do it without realizing it. When something unpleasant comes up, I dutifully turn my attention to it and note it carefully. But I often move on quickly, even if that sensation hasn’t moved on. Then when I encounter something pleasant, I do my best to stay mindful and not get attached, but find myself lingering with it much longer.

During an intensive vipassanā retreat, I found myself three days into the course encountering persistent closed-eye hallucinations. The colors and flashes of light that I could normally see on the backs of my eyelids formed themselves into patterns, shapes, objects, and landscapes. This wasn’t completely new territory to me, so I dutifully noted the experience, saying in my head “seeing, seeing, seeing” as I brought my full awareness to my visual field. Most phenomena will pass away when noted thus, but it’s not uncommon for things to persist for a long time, at which point I just return to my breath and move on. But these images were so persistent, they would linger in my peripheral awareness at all times, and repeatedly jump forward to command my full attention. I became frustrated and angry with the images and myself. The visualizations became darker in content — multitudes of insects swarming, images of death and disease, black holes sucking up all existence. In retrospect, I was probably passing through Dark Night territory.

In the morning I asked my teacher about it. In detail, I explained my experience and exactly what I was doing when meditating. When the images would arise, I would try noting them 10-20 times before ignoring them and returning to my breath. But once back on my breath, they would keep coming up and trying to ignore them just got me more and more frustrated. He immediately pointed out my error. “No,” he said. “When they come back up you can’t ignore them. You have to note them every time. Show them that you’re not afraid.”

Hearing these words made me well up with tears as a burst of emotional energy was released from me. After all, I was afraid. I was afraid of my mind, and afraid that I would have to quit the retreat and return in shame to friends and family. When in an intensive retreat like this, the frustrations of practice can loom so large, representing all frustrations of life. Similarly, a victory in meditation can feel as good as any great human feat.

With a clear directive in hand —show them that you’re not afraid— I returned to the cushion with confidence. I diligently noted the images that arise, and after some time returned to my breath. They shifted into my peripheral awareness, but grabbed my attention within seconds. This time, I just met them again, cheerfully, and noted more. Rinse. Repeat. For the following 20 minutes or so, I was constantly returning to these persistent hallucinations. Yet, when my timer went off, I realized that I had spent a good half hour with no hallucinations coming up. In a single session, I had overcome a distraction that had been assaulting me for 24 hours.

When Aang finds Sokka trapped in the ground, face-to-face with an angry sabertooth moose-lion, his options are few. Dancing around or evading this beast would leave his friend trampled to death. He must face the beast head-on, showing it that he’s not afraid. He stands his ground and the moose-lion retreats. Even more impressive, he stands up to Toph. Finally, he has the confidence to earthbend.

There are many tools that we can use to deal with difficulty along the path. We can do loving-kindness mediation (mettā) or seek refuge in the triple gem: the Buddha, his teachings, and one’s spiritual community. We can do tranquility mediation (samatha) to bring calm and clarity. We can get our bodies moving, dancing, doing yoga, or simply taking a jog to get our endorphins moving. But we want to make lasting progress on the spiritual path, we must simply face our experience head-on. We must confront all phenomena.