This morning, I was one of the last people to file out of the main hall after service (I’m staying at a temple in Japan where only one guy speaks English) so I wasn’t with the group as they walked to the next building for the fire ceremony. It was my first time walking from the main building to the building where they had the fire ceremony so I had no idea how to get there. I worried about this as I tried to catch up with the group.
“It’s okay,” I reassured myself. “No one is leaving you. You’re
not going to be left behind.”And I noticed this- this fear in me of being left and I
connected it with my mother’s death and how maybe I felt like she had left me,
behind.
“Your mother didn’t leave you,” I said.
And then I answered myself, “Yes… she did.”
And it’s true. My mother left. At least, I think that's what happened. My aunt explained to me once that she was with my mom, when she spoke her last words. They were sitting on the couch, in the living room, talking, and then my mom stopped talking. Apparently, the cancer had reached the point at which she could no longer speak and at that point, they decided to take her to the hospital. I’ve been told that we each were sent in to say goodbye to her and then, presumably, she got in the car and they drove her to the hospital. It was there that she died. (I believe about two weeks later, in her sleep).
Cognitively, logically, even factually, my mother did not leave me, she did not choose to walk away from me and leave me behind but physically, and in the cognitive ability of a six year old, she left, and never came back. It’s likely that I experienced this as being left regardless of what actually happened, and so it contributes to my fear and desire to be included, to make sure that I am safe, to do all kinds of things to secure my personal relationships with others.
This was going through my mind as I hurriedly put on my shoes in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the group and follow them to the next building. I was relieved to see a monk, standing outside the building, directing me to the next destination:
He gestured down the road, “Go… and turn left,” he said and I bowed to him in gratitude.
“See,” I said to myself. “It’s okay. People are looking out for you.”
I walked to the end of the driveway and turned left. There was no one on the road in front of me. I kept walking anyway, assuming that everyone had already walked in to the building. I came to a building that looked like a store front. There was a man there, sweeping.
“Fire ceremony?” I asked. He looked at me blankly. I gestured flames rising in the air. He continued to look at me blankly. Finally, I said “Eko In?” (the name of the temple) and he directed me back to the building I had come from. “Well,” I thought to myself, “That monk must have confused left with right in his translation,” and walked the other way down the street.
But then, there was no one on the road in front of me in either direction. I started to cry: I had no way of articulating that I wanted to go to the other building where the fire ceremony was, had no idea where else to go, and could only picture everyone at the ceremony, without me.
I tried to calm myself down by reassuring myself, “Look, the ceremony and the building aren’t going anywhere, you’ll get there eventually and even if you don’t, it’s just a ceremony and you can go tomorrow morning if you can’t find it today.”
And then, I saw two people walking out of the main building on to the street.
“Ahhhh,” I thought. “It’s okay, you can follow them, you’re going to get there even if you’re late.”
And so I did, I followed them, and I got there, and sat in the back.
As the ceremony was performed, I reflected back on what happened.
“Did you see that? Did you see that no one left you? Did you see that there were other people who were late and you weren’t alone? Did you see that you got here anyway, you just had to wait?”
And I did, I did see that but I also felt the truth.
People leave.
My mom left. Everyone, at one point, is going to leave me. And at one point, I will leave too. When I die, I will leave others. It just is. I am alone in this world, I am constantly being left and then being met- our relationships are impermanent and people come and go constantly. And I mean that in the most frequent sense of the word- people come in and out of my life on a daily, hourly, minutely basis, it’s just a truth. It’s not a truth that I enjoy, it upsets me greatly, but it’s a truth all the same. Arriving at the ceremony didn’t change this, having that monk give me directions didn’t change this, getting lost and finding my way doesn’t change this. Everyone leaves, including me.
“Your mother didn’t leave you,” I said.
And then I answered myself, “Yes… she did.”
And it’s true. My mother left. At least, I think that's what happened. My aunt explained to me once that she was with my mom, when she spoke her last words. They were sitting on the couch, in the living room, talking, and then my mom stopped talking. Apparently, the cancer had reached the point at which she could no longer speak and at that point, they decided to take her to the hospital. I’ve been told that we each were sent in to say goodbye to her and then, presumably, she got in the car and they drove her to the hospital. It was there that she died. (I believe about two weeks later, in her sleep).
Cognitively, logically, even factually, my mother did not leave me, she did not choose to walk away from me and leave me behind but physically, and in the cognitive ability of a six year old, she left, and never came back. It’s likely that I experienced this as being left regardless of what actually happened, and so it contributes to my fear and desire to be included, to make sure that I am safe, to do all kinds of things to secure my personal relationships with others.
This was going through my mind as I hurriedly put on my shoes in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the group and follow them to the next building. I was relieved to see a monk, standing outside the building, directing me to the next destination:
He gestured down the road, “Go… and turn left,” he said and I bowed to him in gratitude.
“See,” I said to myself. “It’s okay. People are looking out for you.”
I walked to the end of the driveway and turned left. There was no one on the road in front of me. I kept walking anyway, assuming that everyone had already walked in to the building. I came to a building that looked like a store front. There was a man there, sweeping.
“Fire ceremony?” I asked. He looked at me blankly. I gestured flames rising in the air. He continued to look at me blankly. Finally, I said “Eko In?” (the name of the temple) and he directed me back to the building I had come from. “Well,” I thought to myself, “That monk must have confused left with right in his translation,” and walked the other way down the street.
But then, there was no one on the road in front of me in either direction. I started to cry: I had no way of articulating that I wanted to go to the other building where the fire ceremony was, had no idea where else to go, and could only picture everyone at the ceremony, without me.
I tried to calm myself down by reassuring myself, “Look, the ceremony and the building aren’t going anywhere, you’ll get there eventually and even if you don’t, it’s just a ceremony and you can go tomorrow morning if you can’t find it today.”
And then, I saw two people walking out of the main building on to the street.
“Ahhhh,” I thought. “It’s okay, you can follow them, you’re going to get there even if you’re late.”
And so I did, I followed them, and I got there, and sat in the back.
As the ceremony was performed, I reflected back on what happened.
“Did you see that? Did you see that no one left you? Did you see that there were other people who were late and you weren’t alone? Did you see that you got here anyway, you just had to wait?”
And I did, I did see that but I also felt the truth.
People leave.
My mom left. Everyone, at one point, is going to leave me. And at one point, I will leave too. When I die, I will leave others. It just is. I am alone in this world, I am constantly being left and then being met- our relationships are impermanent and people come and go constantly. And I mean that in the most frequent sense of the word- people come in and out of my life on a daily, hourly, minutely basis, it’s just a truth. It’s not a truth that I enjoy, it upsets me greatly, but it’s a truth all the same. Arriving at the ceremony didn’t change this, having that monk give me directions didn’t change this, getting lost and finding my way doesn’t change this. Everyone leaves, including me.
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