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It turns out that many of the greatest living Buddhist teachers are also some of the hardest to receive teachings from. Lacking ego, they have no need to promote themselves. They often spend their time in retreat or guiding a small circle of longtime students. Those fortunate enough to stumble across such a perfect teacher dedicate sustained time and effort to studying with them. This is the case with my closest teacher, Venerable René Feusi. I’ve learned almost everything I know about Tibetan Buddhist meditation from him. Over the past 25 years, I’ve attended dozens of his retreats and studied with him for thousands of hours.

It’s hard to express the impact of his teachings other than to say that they’ve made my life considerably more meaningful, beautiful, and joyful. Venerable René became a monk in his twenties after a motorcycle accident awakened him to the preciousness and fragility of life. Since then, he’s spent decades as a monk, including nearly 10 years in solitary retreat. He’s one of the most respected yogis in our lineage, and he teaches from his own deep experience. He’s not afraid to share what hasn’t worked along with what has.

Out of a wish to maintain his solitude and focus on long-term students—and probably mostly out of humility—Venerable René has always declined my invitations to appear on this podcast. But last year he gave a public talk at Tse Chen Ling Center in San Francisco on the benefits of concentrated awareness. I asked him if we could share it here, and he said yes.

So here’s Venerable René Feusi on how focused awareness concentration can help us live with joy, not just in formal meditation, but while walking, sipping tea, listening to music, or even playing with your cat.

Calm abiding

Venerable René Feusi: So today I thought to do things a little differently. I was asked to speak about calm abiding, and usually this comes in the section on how to develop shamatha, going through the nine stages, the eight obstacles, the five antidotes, and so on. But I thought maybe to bring something else into it today—because I think, honestly, none of us will achieve shamatha in this life. It’s very, very advanced.

It needs years of solitary practice, and even then, there’s no guarantee you’ll get there. So instead of talking about a realization that may never come, I thought to speak practically—about how, in our daily lives, we can approach calm abiding, and the benefits of it. With the lifestyle we have, how can we cultivate mental stillness? That I can speak from experience, because I try to do that every day.

One thing I’ve noticed is that with our busy lives, we’re always thinking—thinking, thinking—even when we don’t need to. The mind keeps going, revisiting the past, making plans for the future, commenting on our relationships, our work, even what we need to buy. We’re constantly in motion. Very rarely do we simply accept doing nothing.

We’re constantly in motion. Very rarely do we simply accept doing nothing.

But even getting two or three minutes here and there of mental stillness is fantastic. Just two or three minutes to disconnect from the thinking mind.

What’s the benefit of doing that? When the mind is still, you come closer to your soul. Imagine a lake—the surface is full of waves, but if you dive deeper, you reach the stillness underneath. The more you connect with that stillness, the more you touch your own wisdom, your own intuition.

At that deeper level, you may not even need to choose between A or B. You realize it doesn’t matter. The problem was artificial to begin with. And in that realization, there’s peace.

Also, when you’re in that stillness, you discover that you don’t need anything to be happy. You’re just happy to be. There’s no need to achieve, acquire, or chase anything.

When you go deeper into that silence, you begin to understand others better, because you realize they have the same depth within them. That brings empathy and compassion. In Buddhism, we sometimes call this the clear light nature of the mind, or inner goodness, or buddhanature.

Meditating in modern times

Sometimes, though, instead of connecting with this peace, we just switch from outer busyness to spiritual busyness—reciting prayers, visualizations, rituals. There’s benefit to those, yes, but they’re meant to lead us to that inner peace. If we bring the same restless mind to our practice, then it’s just more thinking and doing.

In ancient times—Tibet, India—life was simpler. People didn’t have phones or internet or a million distractions. Their minds were naturally more settled. With that calm starting point, spiritual practice would bring real experience.

Those of you who’ve met the old lamas from Tibet—like Ribur Rinpoche, Khyongla Rato Rinpoche, Choden Rinpoche—they’re so relaxed, kind, and spacious. It’s as if they have all the time in the world: We finish today? Okay. If not, we continue tomorrow. Everything is done with full attention, slowly and well.

We modern people start from a rushing mind. “Oh, quick! Let me squeeze this in.” It’s different. So for us, it’s not just about learning—it’s about unlearning. Unlearning the modern way and reconnecting with how people were naturally, a thousand years ago. If we want real spiritual progress, we have to rediscover that peaceful, contented mind that can pay attention moment by moment.

If we want real spiritual progress, we have to rediscover that peaceful, contented mind that can pay attention moment by moment.

If your mind is busy, you don’t appreciate a flower. You don’t appreciate the weather or the sunlight coming through the trees. You’re on a mission, so you miss the beauty of just being. When modern people do finally experience that stillness, they think it’s something extraordinary. But that was just how people used to be.

If your mind is busy, you don’t appreciate a flower. You don’t appreciate the weather or the sunlight coming through the trees. You’re on a mission, so you miss the beauty of just being.

Nowadays, doing nothing is a punishment. Put someone in a room and say, “Do nothing”—they freak out. It’s very difficult for us to just be. But if we could sit happily, doing nothing—just being happy to breathe, to feel, to hear, to see, to let thoughts pass like rainbows—there’s great value in that.

We don’t think of that as an accomplishment, but when you experience it, your priorities shift. All the things that seemed indispensable don’t mean much anymore.

Our relationship with death

When we die, none of our worldly accomplishments come with us—not our house, our car, our partner, our children. The only thing that goes with us is our mind. If it’s peaceful and joyful, that’s what continues. If it’s agitated and attached, that’s what continues.

And we think death is far off—in 20, 30 years—but it could happen today. Crossing the street, a heart attack. So all our plans might never happen.

Even if you become a billionaire in this life, next life you start from zero. But we pay no attention to the one thing that follows us: the peace and joy in our hearts, the loving-kindness we’ve cultivated. That’s what actually helps at the time of death and beyond.

If we can deepen our experience of inner peace, we prepare ourselves for the process of dying: the dissolution of the elements, the mind of clear light. Most people think that’s paradise or enlightenment, but it’s just a stage. And then, based on our habits, we take another rebirth.

But if we’ve trained our minds, that stage of clear light becomes an opportunity for great spiritual progress. This could even be our last life as ordinary beings.

Slowing down and enjoying the small things

The key to meditation is to slow down. Do less—but with more awareness. Not necessarily sitting cross-legged. It could be walking, drinking tea, listening to music, playing with your cat. Anything that helps you slow down and enjoy the present moment.

Personally, I think walking is one of the best meditations. We already sit all day for work. So walking is pleasant and helps us be present—if we let go of thoughts and just walk. Sit on a bench. Look around. Appreciate.

When the mind slows down, you start noticing beauty. Flowers. Birds. People moving. How they dress. The play of light. You start seeing impermanence—how everything is changing. You see dependent arising—how nothing exists on its own. Even a pair of glasses: if your mind is still, it’s just shape and color. The mind adds the label “glasses.”

You see how your consciousness participates in creating the world. The more you touch your inner peace and beauty, the more you recognize that in others. You see that they, too, have this light—even if they’re not in touch with it. And that brings compassion.

Even a simple sensation, like your feet on the carpet—if it’s pleasant, stay with it. The mind naturally wants to stay with what feels good. So when you find something pleasurable—sound, taste, smell—just stay with it.

The more you slow down, the more you realize there’s so much joy in the simple things. No need for anything complicated. Just the five senses touching their objects.

When your mind is quiet, you can start asking: Who is observing? Who is feeling? Who is thinking? No philosophy needed—just watch. Layer by layer, like peeling an onion, you go deeper.

We are all connected

The deeper you go in yourself, the deeper you can see in others. You touch your own inner light, and then you recognize it in every being. They all have the potential for enlightenment—even if they don’t know it yet. So you wish for them to discover it. And that’s compassion.

The deeper you go in yourself, the deeper you can see in others. You touch your own inner light, and then you recognize it in every being.

We modern people are complex. But the saints of the past—many were illiterate. Simple shepherds or farmers. Yet they had visions and realizations. They touched the divine because they were in touch with themselves.

I’ve spent many years in retreat, with all the studies and practices. But sometimes I throw it all out and ask myself: What do I know without all of this?

I know I’ll grow old and die. I don’t need a lama to tell me that. I know some states of mind are painful, others are joyful. In Buddhism we call the painful ones non-virtuous and the joyful ones virtuous—but you can feel it for yourself.

If you really reflect on impermanence, all our worldly goals seem pointless. What’s the point of the rat race, when death can come at any time?

As a child I was Catholic, and I often thought about what Solomon said: Everything is vanity. He looked at his kingdom, his riches, his wives, and realized: none of it mattered.

When we die, we take nothing. Not our books, not our clothes, not even our prayers. Just our mind.

So much of our joy has come from others. Our parents gave us this body. Teachers taught us. Friends supported us. We wear clothes and eat food made by others. Our modern life exists because of countless beings. We’re interdependent.

When you see this, gratitude arises. With that, the wish for others to be happy. Loving-kindness comes naturally.

Once the mind is calm, spiritual practice becomes effective. Then you can rest in love, in emptiness, in compassion. You can visualize yourself as a Buddha, and the mind stays with it. With a calm mind, everything works. Without it, nothing really does.

Scott Snibbe: Thanks for listening to this rare teaching from Venerable René Feusi on the power of concentration. I hope his gently spoken insights gave you a taste of the joy and satisfaction that focused awareness can bring: not just on the meditation cushion, but in the simple moments of everyday life: walking, sipping tea, listening to music, or even playing with your cat.

Next week, we’re sharing a short guided meditation from Ven. René to help you cultivate the concentration he speaks about so eloquently in this episode.

If this conversation inspired you, I invite you to explore all the six perfections in our ongoing series. We began with an introduction to the perfections with Dr. Jan Willis; we explored generosity and homelessness in solo episodes with me; Dr. Larry Ward spoke about the perfection of ethics through his powerful reflections on America’s Racial Karma; Kazu Haga explored the perfection of patience through his vision of Fierce Vulnerability—a nonviolent path for us to protest and eliminate violence; and Tenzin Chogkyi most recently talked about the perfection of joyful effort—even in the face of adversity.

There’s just one more perfection to go: the perfection of wisdom, which we’ll soon explore with the esteemed Tibetan teacher Geshe Sherab.

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