The Best Buddhist Writing 2010 - Melvin McLeod [70]
I read of a Buddhist teacher who developed Alzheimer’s. He had retired from teaching because his memory was unreliable, but he made one exception for a reunion of his former students. When he walked onto the stage, he forgot everything, even where he was and why. However, he was a skilled Buddhist and he simply began sharing his feelings with the crowd. He said, “I am anxious. I feel stupid. I feel scared and dumb. I am worried that I am wasting everyone’s time. I am fearful. I am embarrassing myself.” After a few minutes of this, he remembered his talk and proceeded without apology. The students were deeply moved, not only by his wise teachings, but also by how he handled his failings.
There is a Buddhist saying, “No resistance, no demons.” I worked to stop resisting my pain. I tried to look at myself with more curiosity and less judgment. I invited all my thoughts to the table and welcomed them like long-awaited guests. As I watched them come and go, I could sometimes see beneath my layers of pain, my desperately self-protective ego, and my habitual ways of viewing the world. Sometimes I felt connected to something light and spacious.
Of course, it wasn’t always that way. Some days I never escaped the Mary that I had been all my life. I berated myself for not breathing properly or for not noticing a sensation in just the right way, whatever that meant. I wanted to connect with wisdom and instead found contempt for myself. I wanted to feel humility, but often I felt self-humiliation.
Recognizing the immensity of my self-judgment was progress. It was impossible to solve a problem that I didn’t recognize existed. I learned to count the number of times I criticized myself during my half-hour meditations. Sometimes the number was as high as a hundred. Still, I was counting, not just judging. I began to cut myself some slack. A Buddhist friend told me that he had outgrown the need to judge himself and that he had found peace in simply being kinder to himself. His simple statement gave me hope.
I conducted a simple psychological exercise. I drew a picture of myself. I looked worn and worried with waves of dark energy emanating from my forehead, but I had a smile on my face and wide curious eyes. Then I sketched another of my biggest problems. I showed myself carrying a heavy bag filled with guilt, shame, self-loathing, and dread. I was so weighed down by this bag I could barely walk. Finally, I drew another of myself with my biggest problems solved. Birds had carried away my huge pack of sorrows and I was dancing with abandon and joy.
Slowly, I learned how to lift my heavy burden off my shoulders. One morning, I noticed this thought sequence: I woke up feeling happy and physically relaxed. Within ten seconds, I began to feel guilty because I was enjoying lying in bed. I asked myself, “Am I lazy?” Then I felt guilty because I hadn’t gotten out of bed. “Am I depressed?” I wondered. Then I felt guilty because I thought I should get up. I asked myself, “Am I driven?” Finally, I felt neurotic because I had so many thoughts and couldn’t simply enjoy lying in bed. I asked myself, “Am I salvageable?”
When I castigated myself this way, I followed Thich Nhat Hanh’s example and told myself, “Darling, I love you just the way you are.” I realized I was simply committing the crime of being human. When I thought of something I was ashamed of, such as “I am mad at Jim,” I would pray for all the wives who had ever felt mad at their husbands. When I felt irritated with myself for doing something stupid, I would say a prayer for all the other people on Earth who had made a silly mistake. That would make me smile and lighten up.
Instead of dividing my actions into good and bad ones, I studied what behaviors caused what results. I paid more attention to karma, or the fact that actions have consequences. If I was focused and cautious, I did less harm. When I thought carefully before I