My cat ran away yesterday. I was carrying a large box, and while I was using my best yoga moves to hold the door open with one leg, and pull my keys out of the lock without dropping said box, he ran out the door.
Thankfully, I live in an apartment building, so he didn't get far. But Enso had a nice little adventure walking up and down the hallway before I scooped him up, and brought him back inside.
Enso started out life as a stray, and I sometimes have mixed feelings about keeping him inside. He's adjusting well to his new life of toys, expensive cat food, and regular head scratches. He spends most of his time sleeping next to me, and lounging next to the window. But he still bolts for the door sometimes when I'm not watching. It makes me wonder.
Objectively, I know that he's better off now than he was before. Feral cats rarely live longer than 3 years. In contrast, it's not uncommon for house cats to live 12-15 years. He's received all of his vaccinations , has a warm place to sleep when it's snowing outside, and his biggest concern these days is finding a roll of toilet paper to destroy.
I know he's happy, but there will always be a part of Enso that misses life on the streets.
In this way, he has a lot in common with Buddhists. We walk the path, we know the benefits, and yet we still feel like we're missing out. We want to be be Buddhists, not BUDDHISTS.
In other words, we want to practice hard enough to realize awakening, but not so hard that we can't get trashed on weekends. We want to meditate long enough to take Instagram photos. But not so long that we get bored, or tired, or miss our favorite TV shows.
Our path is one of renunciation. If I wanted to describe it simply, I'd say we work to stop doing the things that cause suffering for ourselves and others. In this way, our lives improve not because we add things to them, but because we're constantly taking things away.
This is the exact opposite of what our egos want us to do. Our minds are veritable cesspools of desire, and the wish to accumulate more. So we must practice. We must practice renunciation.
One way to do this is through seated meditation. This is a hard practice because it requires us to give up so much. When we sit on the cushion, we surrender our ability to scratch our nose, to speak, to go to the restroom, etc.
Naturally, our minds fight us. Our egos want to bolt for the door just like Enso does when I'm not paying attention. But if we're strong enough to stick with it, we find out something wonderful.
In other words, we want to practice hard enough to realize awakening, but not so hard that we can't get trashed on weekends. We want to meditate long enough to take Instagram photos. But not so long that we get bored, or tired, or miss our favorite TV shows.
We want to have our cake, and eat it too. But that's not how Buddhism works.
Our path is one of renunciation. If I wanted to describe it simply, I'd say we work to stop doing the things that cause suffering for ourselves and others. In this way, our lives improve not because we add things to them, but because we're constantly taking things away.
This is the exact opposite of what our egos want us to do. Our minds are veritable cesspools of desire, and the wish to accumulate more. So we must practice. We must practice renunciation.
One way to do this is through seated meditation. This is a hard practice because it requires us to give up so much. When we sit on the cushion, we surrender our ability to scratch our nose, to speak, to go to the restroom, etc.
Naturally, our minds fight us. Our egos want to bolt for the door just like Enso does when I'm not paying attention. But if we're strong enough to stick with it, we find out something wonderful.
Renunciation give us something deep and long-lasting; something we could never get from drugs, or TV, or sex.
The more we practice, the more we create a sort of container for ourselves. Like a warm apartment on a cold night, this container takes some getting used too. But it provides comfort when daily life is hard. And it alleviates some of our suffering.
Eventually, we become skilled enough that we can take our renunciation practice off the cushion. Suddenly we're able to smile and offer a kind word when we really want to say, "Shut the hell up!" By doing this, we renounce anger.
Or perhaps we find ourselves being generous, and refilling the coffee pot at work even though we've already got coffee in our own cup. In this way we renounce greed.
Eventually, we realize that we're not really losing anything by devoting ourselves to Buddhist practice. Rather, we're gaining the ability to provide peace and contentment to both ourselves and others.
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Thank you for this right teaching, at the right time.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad this helped you. Thanks for the kind words:)
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