“Death is the final act of relinquishment, of [giving], in this life.” – Robert Aitken Roshi, The Practice of Perfection*
It’s quite creative to see Death as the the last opportunity for giving, and for generosity. To give ourselves wholly to death, means not having any shadow on the heart. I can see why forgiveness becomes important. Forgiveness is another of the invisibles – the immeasurable presences of our real life. It means to abandon resentment, to forego the grudge. I’ve noticed that if I refuse to let go of a grudge, then I am holding myself in thrall, in captivity.
I am thinking of someone, now, who was cruel to me at one stage in my life. These days, if I meet that person, I am at peace in the freedom of present moment awareness. However, sometimes I notice a tiny catch in my flow, a resistance to releasing my hold on the grudge. And, that’s a great spot for the study of samsara; that is, the realm of birth and death. I am being born right there as a person with a hole in my very fabric. If I sit next to that stuck spot, that hole, I can see that I’m resisting abandoning my ego’s desire for justice.
(I do have to remind my reader that this doesn’t preclude strong action, strong stances against injustice; and, that the relinquishment of which I speak here, in fact, ensures more effective action against injustice. So, these comments are addressed to a false stand toward justice – the ego’s version of justice.)
There are several ways of working with this, but I do have a preferred way to step out of the trap. Because I’m entrapped inside the subject-object cave, I approach it in that way. Nobody keeps me captive but myself, and – despite the seeming payoffs, it is not a pleasant abiding in that cave. The key has a giving quality. Am I willing to give myself (and the other person) the gift of truth? The gift of inquiry? The gift of compassion?
I used to sit down, when I was indignant about that person’s behaviour, and I would ask the classic Buddhist question: “Who is the ‘I’ who is hurt, here?” It didn’t take much investigation to admit that finding the ‘I’ isn’t easy. And, as I searched through all the elements of my anger, not finding anything I could call my real self, then I inevitably calmed down, and sigh. Have you noticed that your humour is not released until you have forgiven?
Nowadays, if I am triggered by someone I do something similar, except that I approach it the other way. I say: “Who is that person (the one I am not forgiving)? Can I find them?” I look closer, and closer, and ultimately all I can find is my experiences. I find my perceptions of that person, and I find my reactivity. Who is that person, independent of the way I have him in my inner TV? I can’t find him. That tends to bring a calming in me, and, immediately, I’m out of the prison of duality. What a relief! We need to protect ourselves against the violence of others, but we also need to protect our precious luminous, boundless heart-mind against the distortions produced by our untamed ego-system.
So, that’s another way that giving life to life, prepares us for death. I don’t want to be holding myself to ransom in my last breath, demanding false justice from myself and others. Let it go, now. May I have the presence of mind, to say at death’s door: May no-one be punished on account of my ill-will. (Wasn’t that the most powerful of Jesus’ acts, that at the last, he said, in the spirit of his Jewish practice, “Forgive them, they know not what they do.”)
This applies, too, to self-recrimination; not just to recriminations against others. Perhaps it’s even harder to forgive ourselves. I read these lines from a poem, At the Corner Store by Alison Luterman, and I could feel their force in me: “my whole cock-eyed life/ – what a beautiful failure!” One of my biggest lessons in the last decade is this: There is no faultless person, anywhere, and there never has been. If you look at the lives of the saints, it’s clear that their ‘stuff’ doesn’t end with their enlightenment. Humans are messy. We’re art-works in progress. What is it that Leonard Cohen sings? “There’s a crack, a crack in everything.”
If we’re not hijacked by the inner judge, we can accept our messy lives, and move forward in our growth (and our growth into death) with some grace. This takes study, of course. We need to study the part of the ego-system called the ‘superego,’ or the ‘inner judge,’ or the ‘inner critic.’ Once you learn its ways, then its easier to say with Alison Luterman, “What a beautiful failure,” and then, to find ways to disengage from its attacks on you. The judge doesn’t want us to celebrate our cock-eyed lives. The judge is a controlling voice, which is empowered by our wrong relationship with it.
There’s a story in the Buddhist Samyutta Nikaya (in the Sakka Samyutta), where an anger-eating demon takes over the throne of Sakka, the deva-king. The more that king’s men treat the demon badly, getting angry with him, finding fault with him, the more healthy and handsome he becomes. So, Sakka approaches and treats him royally. The demon can’t take it, and he disappears right there.
My inner critic says, “You’re a loser.” I pause, come to my belly-breathing, and I say, “Oh, that’s so true. So true – a beautiful loser. The more I lose, the more real I am. And, Dad, I want to thank you, for bringing that to my notice.” Then I check in, to see what the result is, of that skilful means. Lately, he’s just silent. The inner judge doesn’t outlast humour. Because it thrives on bad vibes, because it takes itself too seriously, it can’t comprehend good-humoured responses.
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* The word Aitken Roshi used here as ‘Dana.’ It’s often translated as ‘generosity,’ but ‘giving’ is a better translation.