In a beautiful poem by Rumi called "The Guest House," he writes:
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
And it goes on, of course. This poem is framed and hung in the dining room at Zen Hospice Project's beautiful Victorian house which we have always called "the guest house." I work here every week. It hangs here to remind us of the ever changing nature of our lives, the temporary character of the human journey, the ineffable preciousness of the ride we're on. It makes me think that not only is there a "new arrival" every morning, but perhaps every hour of the day, if we are open to it. And our task if we are to live mindfully and follow the Buddha (or not), is to take what presents itself to us. Invite it in as we would a guest on our doorstep...
Yesterday evening I went to the movies by myself, enjoying the fact that I've been doing this pretty much all my life. As a child of 10 or 11, I used to walk to the Palace Theater on Washington Square and buy a movie ticket for 50 cents, and sink into a seat in the dark, leaving behind my angst and my own bad stories. I just sat myself down in the seat, and opened the door to a new guest. Yesterday I saw a hugely creative film called "Birdman" which tells a deep story seriously and comedically. An aging actor loaded with self doubt mounts a huge effort to create a comeback for himself, so the world will again love him and he can see himself as worthwhile, or even wonderful. The entire film rides on this obsession of his to dig himself out of the hole of self loathing, in a way. I identified with this, yes I did, because I saw that some choices I've made in my adult life have been to create a self I can get others to notice, then admire, respect, and love. This is problematic, if not damning. In our logical mind we understand that creating personas so that others will adore us is false, and we know too that loving ourselves is the most profound goal, and yet we forge ahead trying to make out of ourselves something deeply significant to the world.
While Michael Keaton's heartbreaking rendering of his character in the movie shows someone who has pursued the same path all his life, I have tried more than one "career" as I went along, hungering for a belonging and, yes, approval. Teaching was a most exciting role that I chose in the eighties, it felt natural, and it made me feel gloriously alive, and I thought I'd do it forever. I was good at it, and amazingly I understood that. But personal upheaval in my life and the need to re-group forced a change. I moved into jewelry design, working for a change with my hands, and it felt exciting in the beginning: to fashion things of surprising beauty without any great master plan. But my struggle came when I tried to become a commercial success. I wanted to make my mark, because I really thought I had something beautiful and unique to sell. I failed at this because I was not a good business person, because the market wasn't the right market, and finally I decided that there was something better to do than peddle beads while educating the public about their worth. I turned in a very interesting new direction, became a volunteer at Zen Hospice Project, and for the last nine years have been attending those who are dying. An extraordinary "career" that has no room in it for trying to be noticed or adored. It is service pure and simple, and it allows you to give and receive love every day you show up. People who are working out the complexities of their last days have no time to become "fans." Thank god.
My heart went out to the Michael Keaton character in the film yesterday, I actually felt an aching inside my body for the person who drives him/herself so desperately to find relevance. Because I remembered it in myself... It still lurks there as I peck away at revising my memoir manuscript, turning the pages, making marks and adding thoughts, erasing thoughts, and trying so hard to create a wonderful book. I don't want or need to be famous like the guy in the movie, but I really want to see my words in print. And I also know that if I can't make that happen I will have to wrangle again with the self worth demons who screech at me.
I need to remember that as the hours and days and months unfold, many new guests are going to arrive before me, and I need to keep opening the door.
No comments:
Post a Comment