Acceptance is a big deal in Buddhist circles. We're told that we must accept suffering, accept mistreatment, accept the opinions of others. We're told to be like the ocean, which accepts all things and rejects nothing. Much of this thinking is rooted in a slavish dependence on the absolute. This is especially true in Zen circles where the conventional world is painted as less than, and we're told all things are resolved in the unborn mind. This puts practitioners in a tough spot because right and wrong clearly exist. 2+2 = 4, not 5. But if we care too deeply for the truth, if we "have preferences" then that's seen as proof of an unenlightened mind. I struggled with this contradiction for many years, wondering how I was supposed to practice Buddhism without practicing Buddhism. Then I studied the life and teachings of the historical Buddha, putting aside the words of Western "masters", and I noticed something interesting. The Buddha never taught
As I write this one of our cats, Finn, is sprawled across my lap. He is an all-white, American short hair with blue eyes and below average intelligence. I've watched him carefully plan his leap onto the bookshelf only to jump headfirst into the wall. And he regularly gets lost wandering through our house; meowing sadly until I or my partner go to find him. What Finn lacks in intelligence, however, he makes up for with love. He is one of the most affectionate cats I have ever known. He rubs his head against my legs when I walk through the house, he watches from the window when I work in the garden. And if I sit on the couch to write, read, or watch a movie, he magically appears in my lap. I like to think that I'm the strong, independent type. But the truth is that I'm not so different from Finn. When I kneel in front of my altar, I justify my actions with philosophical jargon. I can talk for hours about sacral realism and how my Butsudan is a physical representation of B