The story goes that the Buddha left his palace, somewhere in India, over 2,500 years ago. He was a 29 year old prince, abandoning his wife and child, displaying a pretty selfish attitude if you ask me. When I was just a little older, I didn’t leave the palace, rather a home in Glen Cove, Long Island. I, too, had family, but respecting the privacy of others, this is a story that has no place on the page. Looking back all these decades later, I can understand the kind of things that go through your mind when you hit your 30’s. The landscape seems much larger than before, as you begin asking yourself questions you never thought about until then. The days of being a kid are long gone and the light shines a lot brighter on your choices.
The Buddha kind of dodged a bullet, because the last time I checked, The Larry is not a spiritual practice. I did not spend 7 years wandering around Manhattan, finally seeing the north star, while sitting under a tree in Central Park; nor did anyone in my family applaud my choice and become followers of The Larry.
I have no idea how some of us are chosen to be great spiritual leaders, world renowned artists or scholars, while the overwhelming majority of us are just regular people, hopefully finding some solace in the mundane.
From what little I know, the Buddha really gave a shit about the rest of us and how we were living, devoting his entire being to finding out what is at the very core of all our lives. When I first started reading about him and what he had to say, I was around that pivotal age, about to enter nearly ten years of therapy, hopelessly looking for the meaning of life, an unbelievable waste of time, spinning in tiny circles, trying to bite my butt.
I don’t know how that guy had the time to come up with all he did. There were innumerable talks, an endless array of rules and practices and if that wasn’t enough, disciples through the centuries, layered mountains of interpretations, morphing with every country it rooted in. The various schools took hold here with the Beats in the 50’s. It seemed like nearly every book written in the US was by some Jewish guy and I kid you not. Of course, they were also the Commies around the same time, indicative of a liberal intellect common to the religion. By the way, I can say this and you can’t, unless you happen to be of the tribe.
In my early 40’s, I was living in the high desert country of northern New Mexico, forgetting about all the Buddha baggage, finally getting back to the basics of the fuel that started his engine in the first place. He left the palace on a deeply personal quest, never imagining all that would happen, following that magical flash of clarity, simultaneously exploding through every cell in his body. I was drawn to the Zen way of embracing his teaching, because it was the most forgiving and closest to that singular moment in his life, in my very humble, uneducated opinion.
He realized we live in a world of endless change, with constancy a mirage, providing a false sense of security. After all my years, I understand that nothing stays the same. My story keeps changing with every second that goes by. Every feeling affects the next and it is no different for thoughts. Every day is completely different than the day before, regardless of the illusion of repetition. My body has been changing over time and I feel it. We don’t need any more proof than the trajectory of our lives, from birth to death, which throws so many of us into a kind of suffering. The Buddha knew it was something we all share. Not a goddamn thing stays the same and the less we are aware of it, the more pain it causes. The facts many of us swear by, are merely an illusion of our perception.
To make matters even worse, there is no magic pill to swallow, painlessly alleviating this inescapable conundrum. I left out the cruelest trick in all this. The idea of some kind of enduring self is complete bullshit. In the midst of all this impermanence, there is a false sense of security that at least we know for sure who we are and we can count on it. Like everything else all around us, we, too, are a constantly evolving being. Now, that really sucks and it is so easy to accuse someone like me of being a nihilist, which is miles from the truth. I automatically think of the Saturday Night Live skit of years ago. The guys were dressed in black, spoke with thick German accents, moving in choreographed, jerky robotic gestures.
If I’ve got it right, the Buddha came out with a fascinating conclusion about all this. Once you accept this as true, your suffering doesn’t miraculously dissipate. You begin to understand this reality creates within you an ease about it all. The unavoidable pain of being human ultimately engenders a kind of grace. You keep relearning this lesson everyday. It is a journey without a destination.
Handling the truth is our private salvation.
Thanks and please don’t think me presumptuous. We are all in this together.
The Larry