I want it to be as it was before.
Before, I was routinely praised. I was, or so I thought, respected and liked. Oh, I had my rough edges, but those were just a part of the charmingly curmudgeonly Reid that came with the territory. I was outspoken but fair; you always knew where I was coming from, and all of that was just fine. Or so I thought.
And then The Event happened I wrote about last month (can't believe it's been a month since I wrote here! Yikes!), and everything changed. And I don't want it to be different than it was.
I ran into someone who said she used to routinely read this blog but gave it up when it became "more Buddhist". I only mention this because what I have tried to say here as often as I can is how everything the Buddha had to say was really just common sense that applies to everyone everywhere, all the time. It's not really Buddhist, per se, so much as it is deeply and abidingly human.
We want to be praised and not blamed. We want to be happy and not sad. We want to be young and not old (or at least not decrepit). We want to be well and not ill. We want to be loved and not hated. We want to be trusted and not distrusted. We want to be respected and not disrespected. We want to be raised up and not shamed. We want to be rested and not exhausted. We want to serve but not to be taken advantage of. This is what it is to be human and caught up in the day-to-day business of living a life of suffering.
And the common sense of the Buddha had this to say: yes, this is what we all want, but the suffering is not in the blame, the sadness, the aging, the decrepitude, the illness, the hatred, the distrust, the anger, in death or pain or shame. The suffering is in the lack of recognition that these things are inevitable. And when we resist the inevitable, well, we are welcome to do so, but it won't affect the outcome one bit. It will only create the conditions to exacerbate our own difficulty.
Still, I want it all back the way it was. I was probably even deluding myself about how it was before. I don't even care about that. I want the delusion back, too. In The Truman Show, the Jim Carrey film, I recall how along with the anger and disappointment of Truman's discovery of the trick that was played on him came a genuine grief that his magical world had to come to an end, had been a fraud all along. I am not at all sure that, given the chance, he would not have wanted to go back to the delusion. But that was no longer possible, as it is not for me.
I have forgiven, at least I think I have. But the injury goes deep and is not easily healed. It is as if I was stabbed through the heart—I will get better, I will forgive, I will embrace both of the people who perpetrated this harm with love in my heart. But I will think twice before I get near them while either is carrying a knife, if you know what I mean. I can love and forgive, but to trust, respect, or befriend may not be within my power.
I must constantly remind myself that the relationship of today to yesterday exists entirely in my mind. Yesterday is as dead as ash. Yesterday is a corpse. And in my desire to make things as they were, I am wasting my energy attempting to vivify that corpse, doing CPR on that which is already cold and decaying. I can prop it up, paint its face, manipulate it into the simulacrum of humanity, yet it still will be a corpse. Meanwhile, the newborn child of today is sitting neglected and sad, waiting for my attentions.
Ah, but it's not easy. The Buddha knew this. After all, if we were all already good at this stuff, there would be no need for enlightenment, would there, because we would be there instantly. As soon as we realized the problem, we would apply the solution and—poof!—no more problem! But it doesn't work that way, does it?
Still...still...and yet...I have tools. I have teachings. I have companions. I have teachers. I have faith. I have love. And I have a deep and abiding understanding that the more I practice letting go of the corpse, the easier it becomes. The more I can let go, the more likely it is that I can heal these wounds. And someday I will.
Before, I was routinely praised. I was, or so I thought, respected and liked. Oh, I had my rough edges, but those were just a part of the charmingly curmudgeonly Reid that came with the territory. I was outspoken but fair; you always knew where I was coming from, and all of that was just fine. Or so I thought.
And then The Event happened I wrote about last month (can't believe it's been a month since I wrote here! Yikes!), and everything changed. And I don't want it to be different than it was.
I ran into someone who said she used to routinely read this blog but gave it up when it became "more Buddhist". I only mention this because what I have tried to say here as often as I can is how everything the Buddha had to say was really just common sense that applies to everyone everywhere, all the time. It's not really Buddhist, per se, so much as it is deeply and abidingly human.
We want to be praised and not blamed. We want to be happy and not sad. We want to be young and not old (or at least not decrepit). We want to be well and not ill. We want to be loved and not hated. We want to be trusted and not distrusted. We want to be respected and not disrespected. We want to be raised up and not shamed. We want to be rested and not exhausted. We want to serve but not to be taken advantage of. This is what it is to be human and caught up in the day-to-day business of living a life of suffering.
And the common sense of the Buddha had this to say: yes, this is what we all want, but the suffering is not in the blame, the sadness, the aging, the decrepitude, the illness, the hatred, the distrust, the anger, in death or pain or shame. The suffering is in the lack of recognition that these things are inevitable. And when we resist the inevitable, well, we are welcome to do so, but it won't affect the outcome one bit. It will only create the conditions to exacerbate our own difficulty.
Still, I want it all back the way it was. I was probably even deluding myself about how it was before. I don't even care about that. I want the delusion back, too. In The Truman Show, the Jim Carrey film, I recall how along with the anger and disappointment of Truman's discovery of the trick that was played on him came a genuine grief that his magical world had to come to an end, had been a fraud all along. I am not at all sure that, given the chance, he would not have wanted to go back to the delusion. But that was no longer possible, as it is not for me.
I have forgiven, at least I think I have. But the injury goes deep and is not easily healed. It is as if I was stabbed through the heart—I will get better, I will forgive, I will embrace both of the people who perpetrated this harm with love in my heart. But I will think twice before I get near them while either is carrying a knife, if you know what I mean. I can love and forgive, but to trust, respect, or befriend may not be within my power.Ah, but it's not easy. The Buddha knew this. After all, if we were all already good at this stuff, there would be no need for enlightenment, would there, because we would be there instantly. As soon as we realized the problem, we would apply the solution and—poof!—no more problem! But it doesn't work that way, does it?
Still...still...and yet...I have tools. I have teachings. I have companions. I have teachers. I have faith. I have love. And I have a deep and abiding understanding that the more I practice letting go of the corpse, the easier it becomes. The more I can let go, the more likely it is that I can heal these wounds. And someday I will.
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