Don’t Be Upset

In the second century, Marcus Aurelius wrote about how we should respond to events in our lives that don’t turn out how we think they should:

First, don’t be upset. Nothing happens that isn’t in accord with universal nature, and before long you won’t exist at all…

I would like to explain and perhaps amend his first sentence, because it now reads in a way that could exacerbate the very upset he is advising us against. Perhaps this moralistic reading is simply because of the force of the stream of what William James called ‘once-born religions.’ In looking at American religions, James divided them into two categories ‘once-born’ and ‘twice-born’.

Once-born religions assert that the problems we encounter are of our own making and if that we change our thinking we will be successful and happy. Norman Vincent Peale’s bestseller of the 50’s THE POWER OF POSITIVE THINKING and Rhonda Bryne’a more recent THE SECRET are two expositions of the essence of this kind of religious perspective—if you are upset, don’t worry, nothing is wrong. Just change your thinking and you’ll be fine. Zen Buddhism is sometimes mistakenly lumped in this category as we are encouraged to ‘get our Zen on’ and not be bothered by the events of our lives because all suffering is just in the mind.

Twice-born religions believe that salvation, or true freedom, is only possible when we are willing to die. This process of necessary death is imagined and presented in a variety of ways. For Christians, the central imagery is of Christ dying on the cross. As believers, we are encouraged to follow his example as we surrender our small life to attain everlasting life. In Zen Buddhism, we talk about dying to our ‘little self’ so we can realize that we are part of something much larger and that the ups and downs of life are not an aberration but are simply how life is. (Or, in software speak, suffering is a feature not a bug.) Our true peace (the peace that passes understanding) comes from dying to our opinion of how things should be and finding our freedom within the circumstances that are already here.

My first understanding of ‘don’t be upset’ in the above quote is as a command telling me that the next time I am upset I should just tell myself I shouldn’t be upset and everything will be fine. Occasionally this works for me. But when I am really upset or disturbed, verbal instructions like this mostly don’t work.

In fact, when I am upset, telling myself that I shouldn’t be upset often just adds to my upset. Not only am I upset, but I feel that being upset is another example of my failure as a person so now I am even worse off than I thought.

Perhaps we could change the sentence to read ‘you don’t have to be upset.’ This is better but could still be used by my judging, self-improving self as another way in which I have failed. ‘I don’t have to be upset and yet here I am upset again.’

Maybe more editing is required. We could say ‘When you’re upset, be upset, but you might also consider that Nothing happens that isn’t in accord with universal nature, and before long you won’t exist at all…’ But then it becomes my plagiarized and altered quote rather than Aurelius’s.

It’s tricky territory because most everyone I know suffers so much because of our opinion of how things should be. On the other hand, disappointment, failure, ill-health and death are inevitable parts of our lives. We clearly need a new religion—a ‘thrice-born’ religion that can include everything. I would want it to involve a lot of singing and dancing and being silly—a lot of crying, discouragement and confusion. A lot of walking in the garden, wandering in wild place, and being with young children. In this new religion we would be allowed to feel whatever we feel and to notice whatever we notice. We could compare notes, tell stories and investigate together the wonder and terror of being human.

Garden As Teacher

Yesterday’s snow covering has receded and should be gone by noon. My menagerie of green seedlings has weathered the storm from under the comfort of grow lights in the meditation hall. In the continuing absence of human beings, I have converted part of the Zendo to a greenhouse. A few largish houseplants stand by the windows and keep guard over the eerie glow emanating from beneath two oblong metal hoods. Scores of seedlings geometrically arranged in trays bask in the artificial light as they begin their small and miraculous lives.

I suppose I should write about something other than my garden the delight I take in how it organizes my life, but a friend the other day told me that after reading one post about my garden, he went out to look at his garden with new eyes. That’s all the encouragement I need.

And what is your garden? A garden is whatever we pay attention to, for everything everywhere is always growing and changing. A garden is any place where we appreciate life-and-death. A garden is where we witness life rising up, manifest itself in some particular form and behavior, then vanishing. This is the way of the universe, from single-celled algae in the pond to the swirling galaxies of our immeasurable universe.

When we pay attention to something, life itself becomes our teacher. We learn how to be human—how to be responsive and flexible to the dance of coming and going. If we are persistent, we can sometimes begin to get a felt sense of the reality that holds us so precisely. Paying close attention to any piece of life can begin to counteract the false evidence of our senses that we are separate, discrete and self-determining beings. The more you pay attention, the more the swirling patterns of life become self-evident and reassuring.

A friend asked me how I keep track of all the seedlings and all the various rhythms and needs of the garden. I told her that I can’t keep track, but I just put myself in their proximity and then it becomes clear what needs to be done. Sometimes more water. Sometimes more light. Sometimes transplanting. The wonderful cacophony of rhythms, needs, and stages comes to my ears without effort. I give a hand here, change positions of something there—doing my small part while the plants and trees and soil themselves manifest their miraculous nature.

I feel lucky to be included. Lucky to have meaningful work. Lucky to have a way in that is beyond words and achievements. I just spend time and help out. I feel like a little boy hanging out at the corner barbershop who is happy to be among the coming and going of real people. Amidst the smells of lotions, the snipping of shears and the buzzing of electric clippers, I run little errands for the barbers and help out where I can. Here, life is alive and bustling and I am held in the warm comfort of it all.

So what is your garden? Growing things of any sort, from houseplants to small window box of flowers is plenty. Cats, dogs, fish and even snails too are teachers sent from life itself to teach us life itself. Or playing and listening to music. Or preparing food. Or paying attention to the placement of furniture or the folding of our clothes and sweeping of floors.

As another friend (Walt Whitman) once said: All truths wait in all things. Today, I remind myself to learn as I go and join in the swirling rising, the particular manifesting and the gentle falling away that is the endless dance of the universe and me.

Spring Snow

Through the morning,
wet flakes fall heavily.

Daffodils bow down
while undaunted
ferns unfurl.

Not Looking Away

Another black man killed at the hands of a police officer in Minnesota. Duane Wright was killed in his car after being pulled over because of expired plates and an air freshener dangling from his mirror. Mr. Wright had an outstanding arrest warrant from a misdemeanor weapons charge and was being handcuffed as he attempted to get back in his car and drive away. Kimberly Potter, the third police officer at the scene, then said ‘Taser, Taser, Taser’ as she shot Mr. Wright in the chest with her handgun, apparently mistaking it for her Taser. She was arrested yesterday and charged with second-degree manslaughter.

This happened earlier in the week but I have not written about it because I don’t know what to say. How can this keep happening? Just as the murder trial of Derek Chauvin, the ex-police officer charged in the brutal death of George Floyd, nears its completion, we come up against this seemingly ongoing police campaign against Black men again.

One protestor in Brooklyn Center where Mr. Wright was killed told a reporter, ‘Black people can’t take anymore. We can’t bear the responsibility of the change of the system that must occur for us to be acknowledged and be able to exist as humans.’

I feel grief, anger and helplessness at the unending violence being directed at Black people, Asian people, and all people of color—at women and people of non-binary and non-standard gender identities. This violence is a lived experience and continual threat to the lives of so many. The violence arises from fear and leads to more fear. This violence is perpetrated by individuals, but those individuals are acting out the deeper terrors of a culture that undergoing an existential crisis.

This country was founded on lofty principles that were inextricably intertwined with a system of slavery and the subjugation of women that was viewed as necessary and acceptable. On many levels, great progress has been made. But beneath this progress, the roots of violence and oppression remain baked into our psyches and our cultural institutions. Black and brown bodies and women’s bodies continue to be subjected to the terror of ongoing random acts of violence. No one is safe.

So I again pledge to not turn away from the horrors being inflicted on my sisters and brothers at the hands of the institutions that seemingly make my life safe and secure. I vow to keep showing up and using my power and privilege to acknowledge violence wherever it happens and to support ongoing actions and conversations that can lead, ever so slowly, to some kind of accountability, healing and new possibilities.

A Small Offering

This morning, many entrance points appear, but all are overgrown with the brambles of self-consciousness.

Every inspiration, left to its own devices, deteriorates to a technique that the little self uses to reinforce its defenses against the true and generative shape-shifting reality.

In my ritual of daily creation there is danger—the allure of imagining I know what I am doing. Then, lost in reliance on some self-conscious skill, I fall away from the hazardous heart of things and am condemned to wander in the dreary world of what I already know.

My audacious intention is to live on the edge of the unknown.

I want to pitch my tent on the edge of the great and mysterious forest. Like the great explorers of old, I want to make forays into that uncharitable territory that is the interwoven source of all.

I want to slip into the realm of illuminated shadows to see what I can learn about appearing and disappearing. I aspire to join in the great rising and falling of it all then to report back of wondrous creatures and fresh vistas.

Each small journey, if I can lose myself clearly enough, becomes its own life and death. I practice following some thread I can never know—waiting patiently until what arises offers its own shape and meaning. I do my best to use what I know gently and tentatively, never sure if what applied yesterday is still valid today.

So, this morning, just this. A few cautions, a few intentions—a small offering from the dark forest.

(Excerpted from forthcoming book Wandering Close to Home: A Year of Zen Reflections, Consolations, and Reveries. September 1, 2024.)