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.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Holding out for another reality
It turns out
that I am holding out
for a different reality.
For some reason,
I think I can change mine.
And I think I can change it
by refusing
to see it.
I
am a 42 year old woman.
My mother
died when I was six.
But I don't want to accept that.
I want to have a mother.
I want to have had a mother
want to have grown up with one.
And so I am staying at six.
Refusing to see my grown up self
Because my grown up self
is a 42 year old woman
without a mother.
Funny that I
am holding out.
Waiting
staying
at 6
Genuinely believing that if I stay there
She will suddenly appear
and I will live a life
with her.
But it's what I am doing
It's why I am afraid
to be
myself
Because myself
is without
her.
You cannot be a daughter
if you are older
than your mother.
Grown women don't get
to be little girls
with mothers.
And apparently
that's what I want.
I know.
She will not come back
by my refusing to embody
this 42 year old woman
And I know
that this is who I am
But I also know
that this is what I'm doing
Holding out
for a reality
that is different
than mine.
that I am holding out
for a different reality.
For some reason,
I think I can change mine.
And I think I can change it
by refusing
to see it.
I
am a 42 year old woman.
My mother
died when I was six.
But I don't want to accept that.
I want to have a mother.
I want to have had a mother
want to have grown up with one.
And so I am staying at six.
Refusing to see my grown up self
Because my grown up self
is a 42 year old woman
without a mother.
Funny that I
am holding out.
Waiting
staying
at 6
Genuinely believing that if I stay there
She will suddenly appear
and I will live a life
with her.
But it's what I am doing
It's why I am afraid
to be
myself
Because myself
is without
her.
You cannot be a daughter
if you are older
than your mother.
Grown women don't get
to be little girls
with mothers.
And apparently
that's what I want.
I know.
She will not come back
by my refusing to embody
this 42 year old woman
And I know
that this is who I am
But I also know
that this is what I'm doing
Holding out
for a reality
that is different
than mine.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
It's not your fault
I was at the zen center this morning, doing something that I now can't remember, and this thought popped into my head: "It's not your fault."
I wondered about this, wondered what this was referring to, and then the thought came up again: "It's not your fault that she died. It's not your fault."
And this feeling immediately came up in me- a sadness, a sorry, a recognition that in fact, I had felt like it was my fault that my mom died.
I've never consciously thought this. But hearing that it wasn't my fault brought up some feeling in me that it had been (my fault). I don't know why I would ever think it was my fault that my mom died- it doesn't make sense in any way, shape, or form. But I know that when I hear that phrase- it's not your fault- I feel a mix of guilt, disbelief, and then...an emerging, an "it's okay, it wasn't you."
And I picture a little six year old, feeling responsible for the world, feeling like she had done something to make it happen. But then someone puts her arm around her and lets her know that really, it wasn't her.
And then the conversation continues:
It's not your fault that you were little and needed to be taken care of.
It's not your fault that your dad took care of you and your brother and sister.
It's not your fault that everyone was so young when all this happened.
None of it is your fault- it just happened.
Things happen.
But I think often, we think it was. I think in general, we believe that we are responsible for things. I think we think there is a cause and effect to everything and that we are responsible for most things. I don't think I consciously thought that I made my mom die, I never thought that. But within a context of a cause and effect world, something must have made her die, and so part of me must have felt responsible.
And I think we're stuck in a lot of suffering because of this. On the one hand, we have this great desire for control, for agency, for the comfort that comes from believing that we can make things be one way or another. But with this belief comes this frustration: things don't always turn out the way we wanted them to, and because we think we made them happen, we feel pretty bad about it. We think that if we had just done this, or remembered to do that, or acted this way, or said that, everything would have been fine. And so it becomes our fault that things turn out bad- when really it actually had nothing to do with us.
But on the other hand, we have a great deal of suffering in accepting that we don't have agency in this world. We don't want to be at the hands of the universe, we don't want to live our lives with absolutely no idea of what's going to happen next- that's terrifying for us. And so we go back to believing that we can make things happen, which feels good at first, but leaves us feeling like failures, or leaves us hating the universe for not going along with the plan.
I don't really know what to say about this except that, it isn't your fault. I mean, nothing in me thought that I made my mom die, nothing. And yet, here I am, 36 years later, seeing that, in fact, I actually felt responsible for an event that had absolutely nothing to do with me, my mom, my dad, or anyone. It was cancer- no one is responsible for that. But I still felt responsible. And I think I felt that way because I thought there was a cause and effect to things, I thought I could control the universe, I thought I was in charge of how things worked out. But I'm not, no one is.
I'm not saying I'm accepting this. I just... after I saw that I felt responsible for my mom's death, I thought about so many people who feel responsible for things that are related to them: an argument with a loved one, a misplaced promotion or privilege, even a simple forgetting of something that leads to catastrophe. All of these things are related, we do play a role with our actions and decisions but these are so small compared to the workings of the universe. We do have a say, we do make choices, but we're still living within this greater universe with rules that don't necessarily follow our desires or needs. And I guess I just want people to know that mostly, it's not your fault. You really did try your best, it's just that you're in this universe, and there are things that happen, way beyond your control. It might feel like you're in charge, but you're not; and even though that feels like a bummer, it's still the truth and, well, good news... it's not totally your fault.
I wondered about this, wondered what this was referring to, and then the thought came up again: "It's not your fault that she died. It's not your fault."
And this feeling immediately came up in me- a sadness, a sorry, a recognition that in fact, I had felt like it was my fault that my mom died.
I've never consciously thought this. But hearing that it wasn't my fault brought up some feeling in me that it had been (my fault). I don't know why I would ever think it was my fault that my mom died- it doesn't make sense in any way, shape, or form. But I know that when I hear that phrase- it's not your fault- I feel a mix of guilt, disbelief, and then...an emerging, an "it's okay, it wasn't you."
And I picture a little six year old, feeling responsible for the world, feeling like she had done something to make it happen. But then someone puts her arm around her and lets her know that really, it wasn't her.
And then the conversation continues:
It's not your fault that you were little and needed to be taken care of.
It's not your fault that your dad took care of you and your brother and sister.
It's not your fault that everyone was so young when all this happened.
None of it is your fault- it just happened.
Things happen.
But I think often, we think it was. I think in general, we believe that we are responsible for things. I think we think there is a cause and effect to everything and that we are responsible for most things. I don't think I consciously thought that I made my mom die, I never thought that. But within a context of a cause and effect world, something must have made her die, and so part of me must have felt responsible.
And I think we're stuck in a lot of suffering because of this. On the one hand, we have this great desire for control, for agency, for the comfort that comes from believing that we can make things be one way or another. But with this belief comes this frustration: things don't always turn out the way we wanted them to, and because we think we made them happen, we feel pretty bad about it. We think that if we had just done this, or remembered to do that, or acted this way, or said that, everything would have been fine. And so it becomes our fault that things turn out bad- when really it actually had nothing to do with us.
But on the other hand, we have a great deal of suffering in accepting that we don't have agency in this world. We don't want to be at the hands of the universe, we don't want to live our lives with absolutely no idea of what's going to happen next- that's terrifying for us. And so we go back to believing that we can make things happen, which feels good at first, but leaves us feeling like failures, or leaves us hating the universe for not going along with the plan.
I don't really know what to say about this except that, it isn't your fault. I mean, nothing in me thought that I made my mom die, nothing. And yet, here I am, 36 years later, seeing that, in fact, I actually felt responsible for an event that had absolutely nothing to do with me, my mom, my dad, or anyone. It was cancer- no one is responsible for that. But I still felt responsible. And I think I felt that way because I thought there was a cause and effect to things, I thought I could control the universe, I thought I was in charge of how things worked out. But I'm not, no one is.
I'm not saying I'm accepting this. I just... after I saw that I felt responsible for my mom's death, I thought about so many people who feel responsible for things that are related to them: an argument with a loved one, a misplaced promotion or privilege, even a simple forgetting of something that leads to catastrophe. All of these things are related, we do play a role with our actions and decisions but these are so small compared to the workings of the universe. We do have a say, we do make choices, but we're still living within this greater universe with rules that don't necessarily follow our desires or needs. And I guess I just want people to know that mostly, it's not your fault. You really did try your best, it's just that you're in this universe, and there are things that happen, way beyond your control. It might feel like you're in charge, but you're not; and even though that feels like a bummer, it's still the truth and, well, good news... it's not totally your fault.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Buddha was just a guy
I was at a dharma talk this past weekend, given by Jordan Thorn, and in it, I heard Jordan say, "This is a Buddhist Temple." And I immediately laughed, at the timing of things, because literally, two days before, I had admitted in my way-seeking-mind-talk that I had no idea that the "zen center" was a Buddhist temple.
And then I thought about the word Buddhist, and how it seems to be made up of the name of a guy- Buddha- and the suffix ist, which I think means study. And then I thought about the word Christianity and how that word is made up of a guy's name- Christ- and anity, which I'm guessing means something to the effect of "acting like" or "emulating."
And I thought, "Oh, these 'religions' are named after their 'leaders,' and the people who follow them are following them because they want to follow their example, maybe to be like them, maybe to live like them."
And then I thought about leaders from our time, like Martin Luther King Junior and how if there were a statue of Martin Luther King Junior on an altar, I would totally bow to it. (Well, actually, I don't know if that's true, I think it would feel weird to bow to Martin Luther King Junior). But he is a guy whose example I would like to follow. And he is a guy to whom I am grateful- for his courage, for his ability to speak in a way that drew our attention to our common humanity, that made us see that how we were treating each other wasn't how anyone wanted to live.
And Martin Luther King Junior was an actual person. He was born just like everyone else, grew up like everyone else, tried to find his way in this life, and then did some amazing things that, I believe, moved us forward in our humanity (or maybe brought us back to where we were all along).
But the point is, he was just a person. And following him isn't turning him in to a god or some other worldly being. Following him, or wanting to be like him, is simply saying, I'd like to live that way. I respect the way he did things and would like to act in a way that can have the same effect.
I don't think anyone thinks of Martin Luther King Junior as a god. I don't think anyone thinks of him
as from another world. I think everyone knows he was a human being, just like everyone else.
And that brought me back to Buddha. As far as I know, he was just a guy too. From what I've heard,
he was a prince who stepped outside his castle gates, saw suffering and said, "No way! This is out
there? And I'm in here? I need to figure this out." And then left his castle (or whatever it is that
princes lived in back then) and tried to figure it out. And he struggled with it a lot and tried all these
different ways to, I don't know, relieve suffering or understand it... I'm not really sure, but then he came to this place in which he felt like he did understand it, or at least made peace with it.
And then he shared. He said, "This works for me. It might not work for you, but this is how I'm doing it." (okay, darn good thing there aren't any rights or laws about paraphrasing religious leaders, I think I'd be silenced forever at this point!) And I think some people tried it and they were like, "Yeah, this does work. Let's follow him and try to live the way he is living."
And then I thought about how we often 'pay homage to' the ancestors of the temple: Boddhidharma and Ei Hei Dogen and I'm pretty sure that they were people too. And I'm pretty sure that they each had some teaching to offer, that they had a way of understanding this practice in their lives and that they shared that with others. And I think that when we 'pay homage' to them we're saying "Dude- thank you so much for your way of seeing these things and for sharing that with us. It totally helps us to get a better understanding of how to put these things into practice."
It's like being a Buddhist doesn't mean you're becoming some ascetic or some other worldly person, you're just saying "Huh, I think I'd like to live my life this way, or at least part of it. I believe in what that guy was doing. I think it's an effective way to live and I'd like to live that way too. So I'm going to study it, see what it's all about, learn about how other people put it in to practice and then try to put it in to practice in my own life."
And yes, I am fully aware that I am writing this blogpost to make peace with my own issues around Buddhism. Yep, got it.
And then I thought about the word Buddhist, and how it seems to be made up of the name of a guy- Buddha- and the suffix ist, which I think means study. And then I thought about the word Christianity and how that word is made up of a guy's name- Christ- and anity, which I'm guessing means something to the effect of "acting like" or "emulating."
And I thought, "Oh, these 'religions' are named after their 'leaders,' and the people who follow them are following them because they want to follow their example, maybe to be like them, maybe to live like them."
And then I thought about leaders from our time, like Martin Luther King Junior and how if there were a statue of Martin Luther King Junior on an altar, I would totally bow to it. (Well, actually, I don't know if that's true, I think it would feel weird to bow to Martin Luther King Junior). But he is a guy whose example I would like to follow. And he is a guy to whom I am grateful- for his courage, for his ability to speak in a way that drew our attention to our common humanity, that made us see that how we were treating each other wasn't how anyone wanted to live.
And Martin Luther King Junior was an actual person. He was born just like everyone else, grew up like everyone else, tried to find his way in this life, and then did some amazing things that, I believe, moved us forward in our humanity (or maybe brought us back to where we were all along).
But the point is, he was just a person. And following him isn't turning him in to a god or some other worldly being. Following him, or wanting to be like him, is simply saying, I'd like to live that way. I respect the way he did things and would like to act in a way that can have the same effect.
I don't think anyone thinks of Martin Luther King Junior as a god. I don't think anyone thinks of him
as from another world. I think everyone knows he was a human being, just like everyone else.
And that brought me back to Buddha. As far as I know, he was just a guy too. From what I've heard,
he was a prince who stepped outside his castle gates, saw suffering and said, "No way! This is out
there? And I'm in here? I need to figure this out." And then left his castle (or whatever it is that
princes lived in back then) and tried to figure it out. And he struggled with it a lot and tried all these
different ways to, I don't know, relieve suffering or understand it... I'm not really sure, but then he came to this place in which he felt like he did understand it, or at least made peace with it.
And then he shared. He said, "This works for me. It might not work for you, but this is how I'm doing it." (okay, darn good thing there aren't any rights or laws about paraphrasing religious leaders, I think I'd be silenced forever at this point!) And I think some people tried it and they were like, "Yeah, this does work. Let's follow him and try to live the way he is living."
And then I thought about how we often 'pay homage to' the ancestors of the temple: Boddhidharma and Ei Hei Dogen and I'm pretty sure that they were people too. And I'm pretty sure that they each had some teaching to offer, that they had a way of understanding this practice in their lives and that they shared that with others. And I think that when we 'pay homage' to them we're saying "Dude- thank you so much for your way of seeing these things and for sharing that with us. It totally helps us to get a better understanding of how to put these things into practice."
It's like being a Buddhist doesn't mean you're becoming some ascetic or some other worldly person, you're just saying "Huh, I think I'd like to live my life this way, or at least part of it. I believe in what that guy was doing. I think it's an effective way to live and I'd like to live that way too. So I'm going to study it, see what it's all about, learn about how other people put it in to practice and then try to put it in to practice in my own life."
And yes, I am fully aware that I am writing this blogpost to make peace with my own issues around Buddhism. Yep, got it.
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