My mother used nursery rhymes to teach me how to read. Each night, I'd sit next to her in bed, snug in my footie pajamas. And I'd pick three for us to read together.
First, she'd read the rhyme to me; running her fingers beneath the words so I'd know where we were on the page. Then I'd take the book into my lap, and attempt to read it aloud with her helping with the words I didn't know.
As a result, tales of old women who live in shoes and muffin men who live on Drury Lane are etched firmly in my memory. In fact, I've been known to mumble Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to myself when I'm in an especially good mood.
However, a seemingly sad nursery rhyme has been on my mind lately, it's the tale of Humpty Dumpty. Unlike the other rhymes that I read as a child that were either happy or just a bit mischievous in there messages, this one was just tragic. It goes like this:
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;
All the king's horses and all the king's men
Couldn't put Humpty together again.
So, here we have a young man who climbed up on a great wall, probably against his mother's wishes, who proceeded to fall down and break every bone in his body. The king's men tried to help him, but he was beyond repair. Thus, Humpty Dumpty was forced to live forever in his humbled, broken state.
I have a lot of questions for whoever thought this story belonged in a children's book. But that's neither here nor there. Instead of dwelling on the past, I'd like to focus on the present, and discuss the Buddhist lesson that lies at the heart of this depressing tale.
Often times, when people begin Buddhist practice, they do it in response to the suffering in their lives. For example, Dogen became a monk as a result of his mother dying when he was 7. And Shinran practiced Pureland Buddhism because he felt the world was so decrepit that only faith in Amitahba could save us.
I say all of this to say that people aren't wrong when they come to Buddhism; hoping to find relief from suffering. People have been doing exactly that for thousands of years. But we must be cautious with our expectations.
Occasionally, I talk to people who think that if we train hard enough, then we'll never be hurt again. Phrases like "final enlightenment" and "mature practice" often get thrown around in these discussions. But this thinking is incorrect.
Because each of us lives as Humpty Dumpty, perched precariously on a great wall. We struggle to carry our baggage (jobs, families, bills, etc.) through out the day. But sometimes our burden is too heavy. Sometime we fall headfirst towards the concrete pavement below.
And as we lie there broken and bleeding on the ground, conventional society tries to save us. The TV tries to distract us. Food tries to comfort us. And pets try to drown our sorrow with kisses. But it's all for naught. All the king's horses and all the king's men can't put us together again. That's what the Dharma is for.
Because the promise of Buddhism is not that we'll never be broken. Rather, it's a promise that states we'll never stay broken. No matter how many times we tumble from the wall our practice will always be there; piecing us back together, and sending us on our way.
Overtime, the practice makes us stronger, more resilient. We learn what pieces of baggage aren't worth carrying; gladly throwing them away. And we get better at carrying the things that are left. Eventually, we lose our fear of falling; not because it doesn't hurt. But because we know we'll get back up again.
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