The third of the Five Mindfulness Trainings shows Thich Nhat Hanh placing the four divine abodes, the in-dwelling places of the Buddha, into our very human lives and interpreting equanimity as inclusiveness. It's odd, because on the face of it, these are very different concepts.
"... I will cultivate loving-kindness, compassion, joy, and inclusiveness [equanimity],
which are the four basic elements of true love, for my greater happiness and the
happiness of others. Practicing true love, we know that we will continue beautifully
into the future."
This training addresses that one of the Five Precepts which deals with responsible and loving sexual conduct. As a result, dharma discussions on it are often hesitant and not very personal. And with Thay's usual optimism and hope in its tone, I find as I write this (to present to my sangha) that I am not quite in harmony with its tone. Right now in my own life, it is hard for me to think about, or believe, that I, my family, or even my country will really "continue beautifully into the future." After COVID-19, with its personal and economic tragedies unfolding but not yet fully known, the future does not look beautiful.
I am unable to retire and I need to remove myself from a very difficult marriage to someone who has already been financially irresponsible and still wedded only to his original family, it seems. And my woes are very small compared to the millions all over the world who are out of work, homeless, ever deeper in poverty, with loss of loved ones or of their own health, I am merely looking for the luxury of retiring into a new life and a less lucrative, but more interesting, career combining some forms of teaching and spiritual direction.
Finally, this precept/training forces me to ask, as I face the failure of a relationship, what is the essence of a good one?
Well, recently, as I was browsing through The Guardian newspaper, I saw a book review that included a recent interview with the book's author, Jan Morris. I have always enjoyed Morris's work over the years, consisting of serious journalism, travel writing, and "popular" history that was praised for being scholarly and comprehensive (The Pax Britannica Trilogy, 1968-1978). I also remember the news of her gender transition from the male James to the female Jan as a pioneering medical and psychological journey in the early 1970s (!). She is now 93, and with the publication of the memoire being reviewed, Thinking Again (2020), she looked back at the book she wrote about her transgender experience, Conundrum (1974).
In this interview she spoke about her wife, Elizabeth, and their children. After her treatments and surgery, she returned to their house in a small town in Wales. She noted that the villagers just accepted her, at least publicly. She attributed it to something very simple: essential kindness.
And Elizabeth? At the time they had to divorce, but it turns out they have been together always. "I made marriage vows 59 years ago," she says. They reaffirmed their love in 2008 in a ceremony of civil union (the UK allowed same sex marriage later in 2014). The children always were supportive of them.
This is an example of a kind of radical inclusiveness and love of the essential person- not in contradiction of the Buddhist notion of non-self, but of the manifesting, in fact ever growing person. This helps us understand that sexual identity and sexual love exist alongside the mystery of personality and compassion. We do not become an Other nor do we have an unchanging Essence. Gender can and should be fluid when it needs to be, to express to each other who each of us really is.
True Love is transcendent of each moment yet present in each moment. It goes beautifully into a future that a 93-year-old helped me to see as having more possibility. It gives to me a new meaning to "the more things change, the more they stay the same." That cliche can have a positive meaning, In a Buddhist context, this phrase might mean that the ocean water is the same that makes every different wave, to use one of Thay's favorite metaphors. The water is still there in the waves that keep crashing onto the shore; they sometimes scare us, sometimes delight us, then always retreat to let us experience them in new ways. Include them all, and it looks like variety can create, and even enhance, equanimity.
May we be at peace in this time of pandemic.
"... I will cultivate loving-kindness, compassion, joy, and inclusiveness [equanimity],
which are the four basic elements of true love, for my greater happiness and the
happiness of others. Practicing true love, we know that we will continue beautifully
into the future."
This training addresses that one of the Five Precepts which deals with responsible and loving sexual conduct. As a result, dharma discussions on it are often hesitant and not very personal. And with Thay's usual optimism and hope in its tone, I find as I write this (to present to my sangha) that I am not quite in harmony with its tone. Right now in my own life, it is hard for me to think about, or believe, that I, my family, or even my country will really "continue beautifully into the future." After COVID-19, with its personal and economic tragedies unfolding but not yet fully known, the future does not look beautiful.
I am unable to retire and I need to remove myself from a very difficult marriage to someone who has already been financially irresponsible and still wedded only to his original family, it seems. And my woes are very small compared to the millions all over the world who are out of work, homeless, ever deeper in poverty, with loss of loved ones or of their own health, I am merely looking for the luxury of retiring into a new life and a less lucrative, but more interesting, career combining some forms of teaching and spiritual direction.
Finally, this precept/training forces me to ask, as I face the failure of a relationship, what is the essence of a good one?
Well, recently, as I was browsing through The Guardian newspaper, I saw a book review that included a recent interview with the book's author, Jan Morris. I have always enjoyed Morris's work over the years, consisting of serious journalism, travel writing, and "popular" history that was praised for being scholarly and comprehensive (The Pax Britannica Trilogy, 1968-1978). I also remember the news of her gender transition from the male James to the female Jan as a pioneering medical and psychological journey in the early 1970s (!). She is now 93, and with the publication of the memoire being reviewed, Thinking Again (2020), she looked back at the book she wrote about her transgender experience, Conundrum (1974).
In this interview she spoke about her wife, Elizabeth, and their children. After her treatments and surgery, she returned to their house in a small town in Wales. She noted that the villagers just accepted her, at least publicly. She attributed it to something very simple: essential kindness.
And Elizabeth? At the time they had to divorce, but it turns out they have been together always. "I made marriage vows 59 years ago," she says. They reaffirmed their love in 2008 in a ceremony of civil union (the UK allowed same sex marriage later in 2014). The children always were supportive of them.
This is an example of a kind of radical inclusiveness and love of the essential person- not in contradiction of the Buddhist notion of non-self, but of the manifesting, in fact ever growing person. This helps us understand that sexual identity and sexual love exist alongside the mystery of personality and compassion. We do not become an Other nor do we have an unchanging Essence. Gender can and should be fluid when it needs to be, to express to each other who each of us really is.
True Love is transcendent of each moment yet present in each moment. It goes beautifully into a future that a 93-year-old helped me to see as having more possibility. It gives to me a new meaning to "the more things change, the more they stay the same." That cliche can have a positive meaning, In a Buddhist context, this phrase might mean that the ocean water is the same that makes every different wave, to use one of Thay's favorite metaphors. The water is still there in the waves that keep crashing onto the shore; they sometimes scare us, sometimes delight us, then always retreat to let us experience them in new ways. Include them all, and it looks like variety can create, and even enhance, equanimity.
May we be at peace in this time of pandemic.
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