a buddhist perspective

If our body really belonged to us, it would obey our commands. If we say, "Don't get old," or "I forbid you to get sick," does it obey us? No! It takes no notice. We only rent this "house," not own it. If we think it does belong to us, we will suffer when we have to leave it. But in reality, there is no such things as a permanent self, nothing unchanging or solid that we can hold on to.

~ Ajahn Chah

The Buddha once explained to the monks that there are five aspects of speech by which others may speak to them: “timely or untimely, true or false, affectionate or harsh, beneficial or unbeneficial, with a mind of good-will or with inner hate.” [i] In these circumstances, they should train themselves by thinking: “Our minds will be unaffected and we will say no evil words. We will remain sympathetic to that person's welfare, with a mind of good will and with no inner hate. We will keep pervading him with an awareness imbued with good will and, beginning with him, we will keep pervading the all-encompassing world with an awareness imbued with good will—abundant, expansive, immeasurable, free from hostility, free from ill will.” [ii]

The Buddha continued that even if robbers were to carve the monks up limb by limb, with a two-handled saw, the monk who became angry even at that would not be doing the Buddha’s bidding. He instructed the monastics that even under such circumstances, they needed to train themselves to maintain an unaffected mind and to continuously pervade the universe with thoughts of goodwill, by eliminating hatred and not speaking evil words.

The Buddha asked if there would be any speech they could not endure were they to follow this guid­ance. They responded that there was none. He then told them that they should call to mind often the Simile of the Saw, for doing so would bring them happiness and great benefit.

[i] Thanissaro Bhikkhu, Kalama Sutta, AN III.65 (1994) (http://accesstoinsight.org/canon/sutta/anguttara/an03-065.html)
[ii] Ibid.

The car slowed and came to a gentle stop. Before she could even pull the key out of the ignition, the back door was thrown open and slammed shut again. She stepped out of the car, leaned against it, and watched the small figure toddling along as fast as his short legs could carry him. He stumbled when he hit the sand and ended up on all fours, but he was up within a second and moving faster than ever. His small, wrinkled feet sprayed sand in all directions.

For a moment, she was enveloped in that same childish sense of excitement she had once known so well. She paused to breathe in the salty air and let the memories wash over her like the waves on the shore: the long drives squirming in the backseat with anticipation, the initial surge of excitement at the first shimmering glimpse of blue, the dash to the water’s edge, and the adrenaline rush that accompanied the shiver that always occurred at the first contact with the freezing water. But as soon as a wave comes it is gone again and this moment was no different. And just as it is useless to try to hold a wave and keep it captive on the shore, she could not chain her memories. She made no effort to do so but let them go without resisting and without regret.

With the push of a button, the trunk of Volvo station wagon popped open. She disappeared from the waist up and emerged holding a fire-truck red plastic pail and matching shovel. They had been forgotten by their owner in his haste.

She walked slowly, allowing the warm sand to flow between her toes until it was no longer warm but wet and soothing, conforming to the shape of her feet. She took one fragile hand in hers and traced the short, newly formed lines with one finger. She let go of his hand and it tightened on red plastic. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then she released her hold on the shovel, set the pail on the ground, turned around, and walked away. The beach chair remained in the trunk. There was no need for it. She sat directly in the sand and watched.

She watched him lay the strong foundation, pounding the sand with his fists until it was compact. She watched the towers appear, one by one, in the shape of the shiny red bucket. She watched the walls grow taller and taller and the moat grow deeper and deeper. Then she watched the long search and, finally, the discovery of the perfect shell for the very top.

She watched him dig frantically as the moat filled up. She watched the sand flung in horror on the top and sides of the wall in fruitless attempts to strengthen it and then just to keep it standing at all. She watched the look of pain overtake the young face. She watched the tears run down the smooth cheeks and become lost in the very water that had caused them. She watched the sobs that violently shook the small body, and she waited.

She waited as the shaking ceased and the tears stopped flowing. She waited as he wiped his red eyes to clear his blurry vision. She waited as the remains of a once glorious castle ran through his fingers and became undistinguishable from the rest of the beach. She waited as the same hand that had eagerly received the shovel sorted through the sand and grasped a broken piece of a seashell. She waited as he looked longingly at it for a moment, uncurled his fingers, and let it drop. And then she smiled.

~ This story was written by Elaina Faust, a student at Culver Academy. An attendee of Sacred Silence, she is in a class that has just concluded the segment on Buddhism.

We don't wake up in the morning and say to ourselves, “Today, I'm going to be selfish and inconsiderate. I’m going to ignore the feelings of others.” We don't consciously make the decision to do this. And yet throughout the day, we act selfishly in so many ways.

We don’t write that letter to a friend, even though we know he is looking forward to hearing from us. We again postpone that trip to the library to return that best-seller that we took out, even though we know someone is probably waiting to read it. We go shopping with one friend forgetting that we had already told another we’d go with her.

Neither do we wake up and say “Today is the day I'm going to make someone suffer.” And yet that’s what we do—cause pain.

We don't turn the heat down because we'd be uncomfortable if our home was colder.  So we contribute to global warming and people in Bangladesh who never used a light bulb are told their land is being eroded due to planetary warming from carbon emissions. We don’t visit our friend in the nursing home because we’re busy, and so they are alone and feel forgotten.

We get trapped by our habits, our personal inertia, and our wish for comfort.

We don’t mean to be selfish or unkind. But too often, we are.