Life is glorious, but life is also wretched. Appreciating the gloriousness inspires us, encourages us, cheers us up, gives us a bigger perspective, and energizes us. We feel connected. But if that's all that's happening, we get arrogant and start to llok down on others. We make ourselves a big deal and want life to be like that forever. The gloriousness becomes tinged by craving and addiction.
On the other hand, wretchedness--life's painful aspect--softens us up considerably. Knowing pain is an important ingredient of being there for another person. When you are feeling grief, you can look right into somebody's eyes because you feel you haven't got anything to lose--you're just there. The wretchedness humbles us and softens us, but if we were only wretched, we would all be so depressed and hopeless that we wouldn't have enough energy to eat an apple. Gloriousness and wretchedness need each other. One inspires us, the other softens us. They go together.
Atisha said, "Whichever of the two occurs, be patient." Whether it is glorious or wretched, delightful or hateful, be patient. Patience means allowing things to unfold at their own speed rather than jumping in with your habitual response to either pain or pleasure. The real happiness that underlies both gloriousness and wretchedness often gets short-circuited by our jumping too fast into the same habitual pattern.
Patience is not learned in safety. Is is not learned when everything is harmonious and going well. When everything is smooth sailing, who needs patience? If you stay in your room with the door locked and the curtains drawn, everything may seem harmonious, but the minute anything doesn't go your way, you blow up. There is no cultivation of patience when your pattern is to just try to seek harmony and smooth everything out. Patience implies willingness to be alive rather than seek harmony.
2 comments:
I read this passage right after reading the following passage by Thich Nhat Hanh:
Aware of the suffering caused by unmindful speech and the inability to listen to others, I vow to cultivate loving speech and deep listening in order to bring joy and happiness to others and relieve others of their suffering. Knowing that words can create happiness or suffering, I vow to learn to speak truthfully, with words that inspire self-confidence, joy, and hope. I am determined not to spread news that I do not know to be certain and not to criticize or condemn things of which I am not sure. I will refrain from uttering words that cause division or discord, or that can cause the family or the community to break. I will make all efforts to reconcile and resolve all conflicts, however small.
I think it's interesting how Chödron finishes by saying we shouldn't seek harmony, whereas Nanh says we should. These are different contexts, and I don't think the two are incompatible, but it's useful to compare the two passages.
One way to put it is that Chödron is talking about harmony within our own mind, whereas Nanh is talking about harmony between people. This latter aspect, involving compassion for others, is a central pillar of the Bodhisattva way.
It can be easy to think of meditation or buddhism as a way to never have any problems, to never be upset. To always know what to do.
Paradoxically, I find it hardest to meditate, center myself, even read, when I am most disturbed by something. If I would take the time to be present, the seeming enormity of what is upsetting me would regain its proper perspective. I know it, and yet it is one of the hardest things to do.
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