On Being and Becoming, Sorta

With palms together,
Good Morning All,

Most of the time we are not buddhas, but rather, buddha wannabees. We buzz around with our nice thoughts and wonderful words strung together ever so easily, likes colored beads on a string. And then we wash the dishes, watch television, and have an live with our spouses and children.

At Zen Center, we can be the buddhas we think we are, but at home, the clothes come off and a whole other person arises. Is this so?

If we are pretending to be something we imagine to be "Buddhist" then we are not buddhas. On the other hand, if we are annoyed or angry or afraid or lonely, this does not mean we are not "Buddhist" either, and if we are genuinely these things, aware that we are these things, then, in fact we are buddhas.

Buddhas are nothing if not authentic in the moment.

Last night I had occasion to feel tremendous hurt, anger, sorrow, humiliation, and compassion, in that order. We attended a service at the synagogue after having supported a local poet at a reading at a local bookstore and having just returned from the mountains. A small group in attendance. None of the people we typically attend with were there. A long time Temple member was leading the service as the rabbi is on sabbatical. This person used the d'var Torah (sermon time) to comment on hospitality. Good. But then she brought up the divisions in the congregation, the rancor at the annual meeting from months ago, and essentially chastised those "new members" who caused such a hurtful stir. My wife and I were two of those members.

So, I sat in the synagogue and heard what she had to say. I decided that rather than react to my hurt, I should open myself as much as I could to her and her point of view. She was hurt by the conflict in the synagogue and hurt creates a kind of personal fundamentalism, as Pema Chogrin beautifully pointed out. When we are hurt, we close ourselves and begin immediately to mount a counter attack to stop the hurt. We blame the person hurting us for our pain.

What this does is close us off even further and we no longer hear the person, nor do we want to. Instead we either want to fight or flee.

Since getting up and leaving in the middle of a person's talk would be rude and very disrespectful, fleeing was not an option.

This offered me an opportunity to practice. And I witnessed my body tense, my reptilian mind emerge, and duck for cover as I swatted it away with my beads which were getting pretty warm in my fingers. I saw and felt her hurt, her anger, and her sense of righteousness. I saw that it was necessary for her to do this. I hope it helped her. I felt great compassion for his often brittle woman who uses her intelligence and vitriol to defend herself.

We came home directly, My Little Honey did not want to stay for the Oneg (a joyous snack party after the service for fear she would "say" something. It was just as well. In the car I drove in silence and processed much of my feelings. At home I entered my zendo, lit a stick of incense and sat on my cushion until it was ash.

Be well.