Introductory Note on Timing: As I was writing the last few blogs I noticed that I had accidentally skipped over this current entry, about yielding, that I had meant to post back in the ‘Odds and Ends’ period. It comes from summer 2013 and, since we are already a little out of order, I thought I would include it this week before we get back to our ‘regularly scheduled blog’…
If you don’t come, I’ll go…If you don’t do it, I will” — Luang Por Thoon Khippapanyo
I was outside, sitting on a bench reading, when a bee flew-up and started buzzing around my face. At first I shifted in my seat, thinking maybe that will get it to go away, but no luck. Next I swat at it a little, wave my book in its direction, I certainly didn’t mean it any harm, but I was hoping it would buzz-off. Again, the bee just stayed-put. Finally I get-up and walk away for a few minutes and come back…the bee is right where I left it. I was so so frustrated. The bee was-up in my world, buzzing around MY SPOT, I just wanted to be left alone to read. For a brief second I think, “I could just kill the bee, squash it and then I would have my spot back in a jiffy”. In that moment my mind screams DANGER DANGER DANGER…I saw it clear as day — this need to defend my body, my space, the willingness to resort to violence to protect whats MINE— this is how neighbors turn against each other, friends and lovers begin to fight, this is how wars start, how we destroy each other, cause pain for ourselves and the folks around us. I got up, walked away and found a new place to sit.. I yielded and in that moment I was free of the bee, free of the danger of killing the bee, free to continue my reading in peace…
So maybe this all sounds a little blown-out of proportion, a little hyperbolic, going from squishing one bee to World War 3. But, there is another fantastic KPY Technique we sometimes use — Zoom In/Zoom Out. Take the situation we are considering, identify the core issues, the wrong view if we can find it, and then scale it. Think bigger or smaller according to our need, in order to gather information, clarify the point, the patterns, the costs.
I am a person who, even as a kid, refrained from taking life. My sense of the weight of such an act, the possible perils, is something I never much considered logically, but sensed on instinct. That’s why when the idea of hurting the bee flickered into my mind, alarm bells went off. I was startled by that raw, dangerous desire to kill and immediately began backing my way into an analysis of my wrong views.
I began with my hot-button topic, control. I wanted to control the bee, control my space, control my body to keep from being stung. I have this deep-seated view that I can exert control to keep myself safe from all the stuff that’s after me. Perhaps it doesn’t work with germs or death or disease, but at least I have some hope with a bee right? But, when my first attempts to control, swatting the bee, temporarily moving away, failed, I didn’t stop to consider the limitations of my control (even had I killed the bee, would my control have won the day? What about the karma, the consequence, the guilt?) Then I didn’t question what the costs of exerting control might be (throw-back to the peeing myself story). I just took for granted that I could control, I should –that’s my M.O.
Next I came to the stuff I was trying to exert control to defend..was it really mine? The bench the spot? I didn’t have deeds to either place, they are public in fact. I assumed I was there first, but then the bee seemed to have a nest nearby. The truth is I sat down and the place became mine, the peace and quiet to read unmolested became my rights –all this happened in my head. But if my right and the bee’s conflict can either really be absolute? Who decides? Does my ability to use force, being bigger than the bee, mean that I should be the keeper of the spot? Does my humanness, my perceived superiority of species over the bee become the criteria? What if there had been an official looking sign reading, “bee free zone” or “human free zone”, would that have settled the case?
This then brings us to the real danger, the concept over which fights start, violence ensues, wars are launched. Mineness, fairness, justice as defined by some criteria I use versus mineness, fairness, justices as defined by the criteria you use.
Late Addition Explanation: So I will admit here that this whole entry suffers a bit from a later editorial heavy hand. Originally, with this story, I had gotten control, I had gotten a bit about mineness and I had a deep sense of the danger…the way it all fit together however was a bit sketchy. Over time what has become increasingly clear to me is that I stamp certain things as my thing or my right. Then I use custom, or law, or possession, or receipts, or just a firm “because I said so”, to justify my claim…to make it seem so real. Suddenly I have the impulse to act, the need to defend the mineness. It’s like I go into autopilot and from there I become oblivious to the consequences, or at least, default to the idea that those consequences are worth it, are acceptable. It took a situation where I thought of killing, something so deeply problematic for me, to snap me out of autopilot and to see the costs, as well as the other options, to move, to yield. Since killing a lowly bee however may not be quite as jolting an idea to you my readers, permit me another tale to clarify:
When I was a kid, my nextdoor neighbor and I had an on-again-off-again war. Sure there were periods of truce, of alliances against other neighborhood gangs, of true friendship even, but usually there was fighting, pranks, tattling and tantrums. At the heart of the conflict was my little brother — both my neighbor and I vying for his attention, for his affection. One day, I trick the neighbor into his rabbits’ cage and I lock him in. The adults are all worried when he doesn’t come home for dinner, his mom comes and asks if I had seen him, I looked-up with big honest eyes and I replied, “no”. Eventually, of course, my neighbor’s mom finds him, he is ok, the rabbit is ok. I sure got a scolding from the adults and some unremembered retribution from the neighbor, but in the end everyone survived, so it’s easy to call it a cute or funny story, kids being kids and all.
But when I think about it, it’s really not cute at all; what I was willing to do — take away someone’s freedom, to cause them pain and humiliation, to cause his mom worry, to lie to protect myself — all because my brother was mine, my blood, he was my friend, my companion first. Why should I share, what if I lost him, what if he picks the neighbor over me? Many adults (though sadly not all), Alana included, have come to see that incarcerating, lying, torturing others on our whim might not be the best idea. But the seed, the wrong view, it’s still there and it’s scary. It’s not something I want to be subject to, its not an autopilot switch I want hanging out on my dashboard, just waiting for it to control me, to force my hand.
So while I still haven’t beaten mine-ness and me-ness, these days I do stop to ask — in this case, is it worth it to get the last word, to push back, fight back, take back? Do I need to be ‘right’ or can I just be free? Can I let it go? Can I yield?