Did I Mention That The Buddha Wasn't A Fat Guy?

This is the last post in a three-part series about the food choices I am making and how that all fits in with everything else in my life (big topic!). The first part is here and the second here. You might want to read those to make more sense of what I am writing about in this post.

I am not suffering, I hope that is evident. I remember before I gave up other of my addictions (alcohol and tobacco in particular), one of the primary reasons I gave myself for not wanting to stop was that I would no longer have any fun, that these things were what gave me pleasure and without them my life would be dull and featureless. I felt much the same way about my food indulgences.

I was just speaking with someone yesterday who was curious about what I ate and I began to list off the things which I no longer consume: alcohol, drugs, tobacco, caffeine, sugar and all sweeteners, almost any processed food, nearly all fried food, meat, gluten, and most oils other than olive oil. I eat dairy sparingly. What a  bore my eating life must be!

But it isn't. Just as with alcohol and tobacco, I was kidding myself that these foods gave me pleasure. I should also point out that I did not give these things up all at once. I have been a vegetarian for nearly 20 years. I quit smoking 25 years ago, drinking 16. I haven't indulged in any drugs for even longer. And every choice I made regarding these things was made from a desire to avoid suffering. I have no impulse to be a purist, I really don't. But each of these had in some way or another caused me pain or difficulty.

As mentioned in an earlier post, one of the magical moments in following the elimination part of this dietary plan is the discovery, when foods are added back, how much they have been causing difficulties. My sister-in-law, who is also following this plan, went through a particularly stressful event not long ago and decided to treat herself to some ice cream. A lot of ice cream. Though previously she would not have attributed the consequences to the sugar therein, she had given it up entirely prior to this and knew that the body aches and pains and other bodily struggles had to be because of it. It was for her a revelatory moment.

But here is the most important thing: I am enjoying eating more than I ever have. In the absence of sweeteners, fresh fruits and vegetables taste more flavorful than ever. Grain salads (gluten-free, of course) are delicious to me. A dish full of (sugar-free) yogurt is a treat. A slice of good cheese is a delight. I made an eggplant Parmesan the other day that was to die for. I don't miss chips or ice cream (well, not much, anyway), chai tea lattes, donuts, cakes, pies, or cookies. I don't miss the digestive issues, the body aches, the tiredness, the malaise, the hangovers of indulgence. I feel better than I have in years. And I am no longer a fat guy.

And isn't this the very nature of what the Buddha meant when he talked about the end of suffering? At one point he said (I am paraphrasing) that what we believe gives us pleasure is precisely what causes suffering and what we believe causes suffering is what leads to freedom, which is the ultimate pleasure. While we pursue the short-term satisfaction of desire, we remove from our lives all possibility of Nirvana, which is not a place but a state of being that can only be found through concerted effort. But this effort is not that of conforming to a certain ideal. Rather, it is an internal investigation to find what is true for each of us. What Dharma means, after all, is Truth. And the only way we can find this Truth is to look closely at what causes us to suffer and what causes those around us to suffer.

I know this all doesn't sound like much fun. I wish I could convey to you more clearly that it is, in fact, the ultimate joy. It is as if we are surrounded by beauty and looking down at the dirt wishing for beauty. All we need to do is look up. Look up.

Embodied

I just got off the phone with my father. His body is wearing out. He is 86. He is sad and distracted. I honestly don't believe he fears dying. But his mind is consumed with the actions of his body.

The other day I drank some sour milk. Not on purpose; it was just a bit off and before I determined it was too far gone to drink, I already had. Not long after, I had a feeling of anxiety in my gut. I couldn't figure it out.

A few weeks ago I got an Americano with four shots of espresso, which I often do because I like the stronger flavor and, since I drink decaffeinated coffee, it doesn't really matter. Except this time they screwed up and used caffeinated espresso. For a moment, before I realized what had happened, I felt as if I was having some sort of emotional epiphany or psychological breakthrough.

We were talking the other day at work about the fact that when we are tired or hungry (god help us if we're both), we quite predictably feel irritation and anger. The state of having low blood sugar or inadequate rest imitates these emotional states to such an extent that we don't even think about the fact that there need be no cause for the emotions to arise except the body's need, that the mind has taken no part in the change. (If it happens because of not eating, there is even a portmanteau word for it: hangry. I really like that).

My point here is that we are embodied beings. Contrary to how we often think of them, our bodies are not merely vehicles for carrying our heads around, and recalcitrant vehicles at that. That's not the way it works. The Buddha spoke very clearly about the fact that the mind exists everywhere within us. Though it feels odd to consider it, there is as much of consciousness in my big toe as in my head. There is nothing to say that I could not reach an enlightened state from the bottom up rather than the other way around.

A few years ago, Stephen Levine was giving a talk (I listened to it on tape) titled, "The Heart of the Womb" about living our lives from this place inside us, even those of us who are not equipped with one. (It's a beautiful talk, if you get a chance to hear it). At the end, he said that he was considering making his next talk about "The Heart of the Bowel". Everyone listening live laughed, but Levine was absolutely serious. "Why not?" he asked. Why not, indeed?

Joseph Goldstein tells two wonderful stories about embodiment. (I feel the need to say that these are my versions of these stories and are not verbatim).

A young man came to him complaining of neck pain, then proceeded to tell Joseph how very uptight he was and the ways in which his life was a wreck. To which Joseph replied:

You mean you have a pain in your neck.

Yes, said the man, I do, and I have always carried my tension there, ever since I was young, and I think it has to do with the way my mother treated me. To which Joseph replied:

You mean you have a pain in your neck.

Well, yes, and I have such a difficult job and I wonder if I should change professions or perhaps become a Buddhist monk; wouldn't that perhaps be the wisest thing? To which Joseph replied:

You mean you have a pain in your neck.

You see the point he was making. We are embodied. Just like my sour milk anxiety and my caffeine epiphany, we forget that the chemical soup in which we swim influences us in ways big and small. The error is to see our "selves" as being the controlling entities and all the rest of this as within our control, when by and large it is not.

The second Joseph story: once, fairly early in his practice, he was at a retreat and doing walking meditation, when a feeling came over him that could only be called existential despair. He wasn't sure he belonged on retreat and perhaps even the path itself was the wrong one. He was uncertain about his own efficacy and whether or not he could accomplish anything in life...and then he burped, and everything was fine.

When we point to ourselves, we point to our hearts. "This is me, I live here". We could just as well point to our ears, our fingernails, our knees. We are embodied beings, and can free ourselves from the shackles of our suffering beginning with the small of our backs or our tight shoulders. Far from being a mere vehicle for our minds, this is a vehicle for us to awaken. What a precious gift.