I am being falsely accused of something at work. I can't say much more because, hey, you never know who is going to read one's blog.
But I also have no desire to go into detail because it really doesn't matter much. As with everything else we encounter all the time, every day, day in and day out, the real meat of the matter does not reside in the details but in how I respond. And I feel blamed.
I have written before about the vicissitudes, the famous four pairs of conditions:
I have written also about the lovely Rumi poem Guest House (actually, I find I have written about it twice, the other time here). I will not reproduce the entire poem here again, but the piece I find most relevant today is where, after writing that we should invite in every new arrival ("a joy, a depression, a meanness") he says that,
It is especially interesting to contemplate the feeling of blame when I know myself to be entirely blameless. If my mind were a logical entity, I would simply understand that the blame was irrelevant to the situation and, no matter what the outcome, I can feel good about myself. On top of this, I work in a pretty reasonable place, so it is highly unlikely that the situation will lead to anything negative happening to me, at least nothing that will impact my ability to do my job and keep collecting a paycheck. I am in what I refer to as my "terminal position", meaning that I have no desire to have any other job before retirement, so even if there was some sort of censure, it would not matter. So, why the fear (because, of course, that's what is really going on here, I am deeply afraid). But it is not rational; it is an animalistic response to threat.
Another poem I have written about is William Carlos Williams' "Red Wheelbarrow". And while I
stick by my contention that this poem is, in fact, about a red wheelbarrow and is not particularly symbolic, it also seems to me that the line, "So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow" is evocative of a larger reality. So much depends upon this job of mine: my home, my life, my health insurance, my wife's ability to live the life she lives (and that I treasure being able to help make possible), my ability to be a support to my parents and other family, food, clothing, meditation, the very electricity that makes it possible for me to write these lines (not to mention the computer and my internet connection). To feel that it is threatened (no matter how minor the threat) is to have to face the idea that what I hold most dear might not remain whole. It is mother, father, wife, son, teacher, student, member of society, survival itself.
At the risk of repeating myself, once again I must reach the conclusion that the answer is to open my heart. As Rumi says, "The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in." The answer, still, is love. I must love myself enough to know that none of this can last, it is all illusory. All of them, my parents, my wife, my son, my accuser, myself, all of us have arisen and will pass away. This situation has arisen and will pass away. The challenge (and the opportunity—oh, and what an opportunity!) is to practice loving the person who is casting aspersions on my integrity and professionalism, to entirely open my heart to her and let her in. Oh! how I want to reject her, push her and her accusations away, blame her in return and make her appear Wrong in her own eyes and the eyes of others, but this is the very nature of suffering. Make no mistake, the aversive impulse does not cause suffering, it is suffering.
And so, one more poem, from Hafiz, one of my favorites (and Heather's very favorite, I think), about which I have also written before:
But I also have no desire to go into detail because it really doesn't matter much. As with everything else we encounter all the time, every day, day in and day out, the real meat of the matter does not reside in the details but in how I respond. And I feel blamed.
I have written before about the vicissitudes, the famous four pairs of conditions:
pleasure and painI have felt mostly praised in this job, at least recently. I have received many acknowledgements and this feels good. I want this feeling of praise to stay with me, I grasp it and will not allow it to arise and pass away. So when blame comes in, threatening to drive out the glow of praise, I am unprepared to open wide my doors and let it in.
praise and blame
fame and disgrace
gain and loss
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,My teacher Heather is fond of saying that there are not just four vicissitudes. We cannot live always in pleasure, praise, fame, and gain, much as we might like to. It just doesn't work that way. And Rumi is adding that I cannot possibly know what the outcome of one of the other four coming into my life might be. It could be that I am being cleaned out for a new delight.
who violently sweep your house
empty of all its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be cleaning you out for some new delight....
Each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
It is especially interesting to contemplate the feeling of blame when I know myself to be entirely blameless. If my mind were a logical entity, I would simply understand that the blame was irrelevant to the situation and, no matter what the outcome, I can feel good about myself. On top of this, I work in a pretty reasonable place, so it is highly unlikely that the situation will lead to anything negative happening to me, at least nothing that will impact my ability to do my job and keep collecting a paycheck. I am in what I refer to as my "terminal position", meaning that I have no desire to have any other job before retirement, so even if there was some sort of censure, it would not matter. So, why the fear (because, of course, that's what is really going on here, I am deeply afraid). But it is not rational; it is an animalistic response to threat.
Another poem I have written about is William Carlos Williams' "Red Wheelbarrow". And while I
At the risk of repeating myself, once again I must reach the conclusion that the answer is to open my heart. As Rumi says, "The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in." The answer, still, is love. I must love myself enough to know that none of this can last, it is all illusory. All of them, my parents, my wife, my son, my accuser, myself, all of us have arisen and will pass away. This situation has arisen and will pass away. The challenge (and the opportunity—oh, and what an opportunity!) is to practice loving the person who is casting aspersions on my integrity and professionalism, to entirely open my heart to her and let her in. Oh! how I want to reject her, push her and her accusations away, blame her in return and make her appear Wrong in her own eyes and the eyes of others, but this is the very nature of suffering. Make no mistake, the aversive impulse does not cause suffering, it is suffering.
And so, one more poem, from Hafiz, one of my favorites (and Heather's very favorite, I think), about which I have also written before:
The small manI will drop my keys. I will not imprison her or anyone else. I will work for the freedom of all beings and, in the process, will free myself. I will love, not only including where it is most difficult, but especially there. That's just the way it works. Everything else is suffering and the creation of suffering. Hey, I might not have to duck my head when the moon is low, but I'm working on it.
Builds cages for everyone
He knows.
While the sage,
Who has to duck his head
When the moon is low,
Keeps dropping keys all night long
For the Beautiful,
Rowdy
Prisoners
