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An 84th Problem
by Ezra Bayda
ONCE
A FARMER WENT TO TELL THE BUDDHA about his problems. He described his
difficulties farming -- how either droughts or monsoons complicated his work. He
told the Buddha about his wife -- how even though he loved her, there were
certain things about her he wanted to change. Likewise with his children -- yes,
he loved them, but they weren't turning out quite the way he wanted. When he was
finished, he asked how the Buddha could help him with his troubles.
The Buddha said, "I'm sorry, but I can't help you."
"What do you mean?" railed the farmer. "You're supposed to be
a great teacher!"
The Buddha replied, "Sir, it's like this. All human beings have
eighty-three problems. It's a fact of life. Sure, a few problems may go away now
and then, but soon enough others will arise. So we'll always have eighty-three
problems."
The farmer responded indignantly, "Then what's the good of all your
teaching?"
The Buddha replied, "My teaching can't help with the eighty-three
problems, but perhaps it can help with the eighty-fourth problem."
"What's that?" asked the farmer.
"The eighty-fourth problem is that we don't want to have any
problems."
Although we may not realize it, we all have the deep-seated belief that if we
practice long and hard enough, our problems will disappear. And beneath that
hidden belief lies an even deeper one: that life should be free from pain. But
as conditioned beings living in a messy world, we will always have difficulties.
We will always have eighty-three problems.
Expecting our problems to go away is truly our fundamental problem. We resist
facing our life as it is, because facing life as it is means abandoning how we
think our life should be. We rarely take a breath without wanting life to be
other than it is. This resistance is basic to human life. For the most part, we
don't want to wake up. We want to hold on to our beliefs and even to our
suffering! We don't want to give up our illusions, even when they make us
miserable. So we resist. This, too, is a conditioned response; it's ego's effort
to maintain control; it's fear of giving up the known (even if the known is
making us unhappy).
Resistance comes in many forms: not wanting to sit in meditation, choosing to
spin off into our mental world, suppressing or avoiding emotional pain, finding
fault with ourselves and our lives. No matter what form it takes, resistance
brings no peace. Whatever we resist we actually strengthen, because we solidify
it, empowering it to stay in our life.
But the opposite is also true. When we begin to cultivate the willingness to
be with life as it is, regardless of whether we like it, our relationship to
what we've avoided begins to change. Up until now we have probably felt that we
had no choice except to push these things away. But as we observe ourselves
resisting them, we can see that this pattern simply perpetuates our pain. We
begin to see the possibility of softening our hardened stance by bringing the
light touch of awareness into those areas where we've never wanted to go. Just
having the willingness to look, instead of pushing away, will soften our stance
and perhaps even bring a sense of spaciousness within which to experience
whatever it is we've resisted.
This reminds me of a story Pema
Chödrön tells about a childhood friend who had recurring nightmares
in which ferocious monsters would chase her through a house. Whenever she would
close a door behind her, the monsters would open it and frighten her. Pema asked
her what the monsters looked like, but she realized that she never really looked
at them. However, the next time she had the nightmare, just as she was about to
open a door to avoid being caught by the monsters, she was somehow able to stop
running, turn around, and look at them. Although they were huge, with horrible
features, they didn't attack; they just jumped up and down. As she looked even
closer, these three-dimensional colored monsters began to shrink into
two-dimensional black-and-white shapes. Then she awoke, never to have that
nightmare again.
It is the pushing away of our "monsters" that makes them so solid.
As we begin to see through the solidity of this resistance, our life becomes
more workable. Although we may not like our life as it is, we still don't have
to wage war against it. We can start by noticing all the ways that we avoid this
moment, all the ways we avoid practice, all the ways we resist. We can see it in
virtually everything we do. We can see it in how we don't want to sit, how we
don't want to stay with our physical experience for more than a few seconds, how
we choose to relentlessly spin off into thinking about the past or the future.
We can see it in our commitment to believing thoughts such as "This is too
hard," "I can't do it," "I'll never measure up." We see
how we're just a well-oiled resistance machine!
Judgmental thoughts like these might need to be seen clearly and labeled many
times before we can unburden ourselves of them. However, when we see these
thoughts clearly, we can stop judging what we resist as bad. As well, we can
stop judging our resisting selves as bad. Instead, we can develop the curiosity
that will allow us to turn and face what we've been avoiding. Perhaps we can
even welcome each instance of resistance as an opportunity to learn.
When I was finally ready to stop running away from my fears, Joko
Beck gave me a practice tool that's proved invaluable in working with
unwanted experiences. The practice is to ask the question "What is
this?" This question is really a Zen koan, because there is no way the
answer can come from thinking about your experience. It can only come from
actually experiencing it. In fact, the answer is the experience of the present
moment itself. In Pema's story, for example, when the friend turns around to
look at the monsters, she is essentially asking, "What is this?"
Whether resistance manifests as seeking distractions, spacing out,
fantasizing, planning, or sleeping -- what is it? What is it that blocks
awareness in the present moment? Take a minute right now to simply be here. Feel
any resistance to residing in the moment. Ask, "What is this?" How
does the resistance feel in your body? What is its essence? Where is it located?
What is its texture? Does it have a voice?
Again ask the question "What is this?" Try to stay with the
experience of it. If you drift away, come back and ask the question again. Stay
with the resistance. Go deeper. Is it physical discomfort you're resisting? Is
it emotional discomfort? Can you bring to it the light touch of awareness? Can
you stay with it for just one more breath? Can you enter into the willingness to
experience the "whatness" of this resistance?
When we finally begin to reside in our resistance, when we finally start to
experience how our protective and comfort-seeking strategies hold us back and
close us down, when we begin to face those things we never wanted to face --
that's our bridge to living a genuine life. That's when the fruits of practice
-- a certain sense of freedom, of openness, of gratitude -- begin to manifest in
our daily lives.
To willingly include whatever we encounter, not to push the unwanted away, is
what it means to say "yes" to our lives. But we can't force ourselves
to say "yes" any more than we can meaningfully say the popular phrase
"No problem!" "No problem!" does have, on a profound level,
a real meaning; but it falls far short as long as we hold on to our deep-seated
desire not to have any problems. That we'll try to hold on to this desire is a
given: it's what humans do. Nevertheless, in living the practice life, our only
real option is to persevere in including all of our experience, because our only
other option is to keep pushing life away, with all the suffering that that
entails.
This
article is excerpted from Being
Zen, ©2002, by Ezra Bayda. Reprinted with
permission of the publisher, Shambhala Publications. http://www.shambhala.com
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About the Author
EZRA
BAYDA is a Zen teacher affiliated with the Ordinary
Mind Zen School, having received formal dharma transmission in 1998
from the school's founding teacher, Charlotte Joko Beck. A student of meditation
for more than thirty years, he lives, writes, and teaches at the San Diego Zen
Center in San Diego, California. He is the author of the book: Being
Zen.
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