FAILURE, MY FRIEND

Last winter, soaking in a bathtub of steaming hot water, I read a book* by Buddhist nun and teacher Pema Chödrön.  The book is full of wise advice for leaning into the unknown.  She poses the question: "What do we do when life doesn't go the way we hoped?  We say, I'm a failure.' " 

I don't know anyone who is happy with failure; I'd do just about anything to avoid it.  I doubt that I will ever embrace failure as a positive force in life, but I'm being pushed that way.  Everywhere I have turned the last six weeks or so, I have been nudged to change my outlook on failure.  I'm encouraged to be "willing to fail, but unwilling to quit", and, "imagine what I might achieve if I knew that I couldn't fail." 

The problem with all of this is that failure can often result in a fear of trying again.  Fear is a powerful emotion that shapes everything it touches.  How do I get over that?  Pema Chödrön offers this story in her book*:

An older couple living in the country have two things that are precious to them: their horse and their son.

The reason the horse and the son are precious to them is because they need them to survive and farm the land and to tend to everything that needs to be done.  The horse does a lot of work, and the son does a lot of work.  They live in a small village, and their horse, this well trained stallion, runs away, so the wife and all the people in the village say, "OMG! This is definitely the worst thing that could happen.  This is terrible.  This is the worst thing."  The old man says, "Maybe yes, maybe no."

The very next day, the stallion returns with a mare.  That's why he ran away.  So he returns with a mare and now they have two horses.  And the wife and all the people in the village say, "Wow! This is the best thing that could have possibly happened.  This is such good fortune.  Now you have these two horses.  This is amazing!  This is so wonderful!"  And the old man says, "May yes, maybe no."

The next day, the son decides that he needs to tame the mare because she is a wild horse, and in trying to tame her, he gets thrown and breaks his leg.  You can imagine what the wife and the rest of the village said.  "Oy vey.  Why us? This is the worst thing that could happen.  This is a catastrophe."  And by now you know what the old man said: "Maybe yes, maybe no."

The next day, the army comes in and takes away all the young, able-bodied men to fight in the war.  The wife and the villagers really haven't gotten the message that I am trying to get through to you; they are still just blown around by outer circumstances.  When circumstance goes up, they are overjoyed.  When it goes down, they feel their life is over.  But the old man says, "Maybe yes, maybe no."

I need to be more like that old man.  Life brings us many things.  Whether they are good or bad isn't the point...it's just life and what we will make of it.

Pat

Take This Thought Away With You

"This moment is complete just as it is;

I'm complete just as I am;

things are whole and fine just as they are."

~ *Pema Chödrön, Fail - Fail Again - Fail Better,

Sounds True Publishing, 2015 ~

ANY OLD STORY WILL DO

Indigenous author Richard Wagamese once wrote that stories are medicine.  There was a time when I thought I knew exactly what he meant: the ability of stories to heal our wounds, when we share those stories with others.  Stories can cure what ails us when we tell them to someone else...it might be just one other person or many.  That's what I thought.

I've come to understand that stories are more than a healing balm or a cure.  I think stories are also a form of preventative medicine, a treatment that I can store or build up inside for the times when inevitably, I need something to help me get back on track or refocus on what's important  in life.  In those times when things are falling apart around me, or when nothing seems to be working as planned, stories have the power to get me grounded again and moving forward.

Stories are like food preserved in the summer and fall and set aside for later consumption in the depths of winter bleakness.  Stories are like money set aside when things are going really well, something to fall back on when times get tight.  Stories are like laying down a solid foundation for future construction.

When I walked into our living room early one morning, I saw the scene shown in the photo.  There was someone with a book close by a lamp; in the shadows, others gathered around, all of them listening, some of them peering over a shoulder to see a picture.  Three generations were present, listening to a story being shared.  It hardly matters what the story was - what was important was the gathering, the telling, the listening, the sinking in, the putting away.  And, every person present will experience that differently, like a book that was written just for them.

It's the stuff that lives are made of.  Who knows when or how that will come back to the surface for those present?   

Pat

Take This Thought Away With You

"All that we are is story...

It is what we arrive with.

It is all we leave behind."

~ Richard Wagamese ~

DON'T TRY SO HARD!

From the time we are babes, we are taught to try hard, keep going, don't give up or give in.  It becomes instinctive - dig down deep and get it done!  For a lot of challenges and situations in life, that's not bad advice.  Life can be tough and most of us come to realize that we will have to work hard to get ahead.  I think that is one of the lessons my Mom and Dad instilled in me; certainly, it's one of the examples that they lived out.  And, to be truthful it's a good lesson to learn when we are starting out.  It has served me well for most of my life.

My second experience of a silent retreat earlier this week was an example of the opposite being true.  I learned in a short span of three days that sometimes the outcomes we seek are more easily achieved when we don't try so hard.

This time around, the retreat I was seeking was not only silent, but quiet.  I knew that I wouldn't have trouble quelling my tongue; the challenge for me would be subduing my mind.  And so, when we finished lunch on Tuesday at the retreat centre and descended into days of silence, I was conscious of the need to let my mind un-focus, disconnect and drift.  Some might call it a form of surrender, a willingness to be empty of plans, questions and answers...to just "chill".

It worked; the experience was completely different than my first retreat.  My overall feeling was one of relaxed tension, of openness or emptiness (I'm not sure which).  It was like being on a river and letting the current take me where it wanted, with no effort on my part to steer.  It was a time of release.

In modern life, opportunities to surrender my will are rare; to drift can even be dangerous.  Yet, in doing so, it's possible to experience something that is close to freedom.  It's an interior freedom that can thrive while all around me is the push and pull of busy-ness. 

What a liberating gift is surrender.

Pat

Take This Thought Away With You

" When the student is ready, the Master appears."

~ Buddhist proverb ~