So, you know that time in a relationship, when you're all lovey-dovey, and just the thought or hint or smell of that person is like them being there with you? And so you keep their sweater or sweatshirt or some other article of their clothing and just having it with you is like having them there? And you cuddle with it or look at it and you have all this affection for it?
And then there's that part in the relationship when you break up. And that very same sweatshirt is now repulsive and stinky and all you want to do is figure out a way to get it out of your house and out of your life?
Same sweatshirt, completely different feeling, right?
Right.
So, I'm going to suggest that renunciation is actually like this- but not quite in the way you might be thinking about it.
I think that when most people think about renunciation, they think of it as "casting off all worldly possessions" or "giving up material objects" or "living a life free of desires or excess."
And I think that some people can take some pride in this, some "look at me for not having a car, a house, fancy clothes... I'm all good because I don't need all those material objects that the rest of you seem to need."
Or there can be some aversion to this: "Are you kidding me? How can I live without a car? I need a house. I like to dress up, what's so wrong about that?"
But I don't think renunciation is giving up, at all... except in giving up the associations that you have with these objects.
And I'm going to talk about this, using Ho Hos.
Ho hos, for me, were a great desire. They were what I ate when I was lonely. They were my "treat" when I had a bad day. They were, without fail, a source of comfort for me. I would even narrate my consumption of them: Ahh, the sweet rip of plastic as I opened of the wrapper, the luscious ooze of cream filling as I took my first bite, and the guaranteed feeling of there-is-always-enough-for-you when I would finish the first one and see yet another one in the package. (there are always TWO Ho Hos in a package).
If you had asked me to give up Ho Hos I would have said, "Why would I do that? They make me happy? What's so wrong about that?"
But I have learned some things about Ho Hos in my practice over the past two years. I have actually studied my relationship with Ho Hos; and what I have found is that Ho Hos used to mean a lot of things to me. At first, Ho hos were the forbidden food that I could not have as a child but could buy as a grownup (my dad would never buy Ho Hos). Next, they were the food that I remember eating when I was in Indiana as a child in the summers (my Grandma, my mother's mom, always had a full box of them in the kitchen and we could eat as many as we wanted). And then, as I looked closer, felt closer, I started to feel that those Ho hos were always eaten at either my Grandma's lake house or my Aunt's house, in town. And then I started to see that those Ho hos were always eaten when I was surrounded by loved ones and family.
See, we spent our summers in Indiana, with my mom's side of the family. And her side of the family was big: she had three younger brothers and they had kids and we all hung out at my Grandma's house where she, basically, doted all over us. We were never alone in Indiana and we spent our days eating whatever meal my grandma could come up with that she thought we would like: home made doughnuts, perfect little sandwiches on paper plates with cheezballs and chips, and Ho hos. It was a kid's storybook life.
But I never really remembered that part of it, I just remembered the Ho hos.
And so, when I was feeling lonely, I would buy Ho hos. Looking back on it now, it makes total sense that I would eat Ho hos when I was lonely- Ho hos were what I ate when I wasn't lonely, when I was surrounded by family, when I was the best thing in the whole wide world to my grandma. But I thought it was the Ho Hos that made me happy, so that's why I bought them. And that's why, if you had asked me to give up Ho hos, I would have thought you were stupid- why give up something that gives you comfort?
But now, after studying my relationship with Ho hos, I see that it isn't the Ho hos that I want when I am lonely. It is the love of family, the being surrounded by cousins, the not-being-alone that I am looking for. And, in seeing this, I can see that Ho hos don't give me that. They used to, or at least they used to on the surface. I would eat them with the expectation that they would give me comfort and love. But, in reality, after eating Ho hos, I never really did feel all that much better.
So now, if you asked me to give up Ho hos, I'd say "Sure, go ahead, take them away. I don't actually want them anymore because they're Ho hos. They are oil and fat and chemicals. They don't give me pleasure anymore because the delusions that I had with them, the associations that I had with them of love and family, are just that- delusions. Now that I see a Ho ho for a Ho ho, I don't mind giving it up. It has nothing to offer me anymore."
And so that's what I think asceticism or renunciation is about. It's not about giving up those things that you want, it's about no longer wanting those things that you thought you did. It's not like you're all great for giving up your desires, it's more like you're letting go of things that you no longer want. And the reason you no longer want them is because you see them as they are- see that it's not the things you wanted all along, it's the feeling you had associated with them. Once you see that you made up that feeling, you no longer want the thing.
Ho hos, sweaters, they're things. Our associations with them can change. Renunciation comes from seeing our relationship with things. Once we see that, letting go of them has nothing to do with giving them up, we've already let them go.
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