Lessons from Pema
In “When Things Fall Apart,” Pema Chodron destroys traditional associations with “hope.” As the title insinuates, I was indeed hopeful that she would offer advice with what to do next. After the fire. Covered in the soot of my own karma. Surely something awaits to hand me the tools to build again. But NO HIDING beckons its close cousin NO RUNNING. Sitting in the ashes. Letting my body collect the dust of all my past wants and dreams. Everything I thought I knew to be true. I’ve only ever wanted to run fast. But I changed my pace to other people’s speeds set by the race of society to “be better” for whatever that means. I don’t believe this is to be confused with ambition. It’s not harmful to feel passionate toward something and know the efforts required to get there. But it’s in the ability to sit at each step of it, and to watch it shift potentially into something else entirely without attachment is what I believe Pema is suggesting. That hope suggests a lack of understanding the present. That hope is a false promise you will be saved. Instead, hope is a mere grasping for distraction. Chodron offers,
“We’re all addicted to hope—hope that the doubt and mystery will go away. This addiction has a painful effect on society: a society based on lots of people addicted to getting ground under their feet is not a very compassionate place…when we feel suffering, we think that something is wrong. As long as we’re addicted to hope, we feel that we can tone our experience down or liven it up or change it somehow, and we continue to suffer a lot” (39).
I recognize this in the piece of paper I carry from the woman who wanted to release the following desire in the Women’s Circle at The Space. She wrote, “I need to let go of what my life should look like.” I know that desire because it’s been mine too. Letting go is a renunciation of hope. What we should be doing, hoping for a better life/relationship/job.
And yet, the trap is to see the negative connotations of this. The darkest crevices of the mind that say, “your actions don’t matter,” “just give up,” “you didn’t try hard enough.” But instead Chodron offers that the full acceptance of what really IS in any given moment is courageous. That most simplistically, it is the point of this iteration. Not to grasp for a solution to this pain breeds a freedom from fear. She writes,
“Hopelessness is the basic ground. Otherwise, we’re going to make the journey with the hope of getting security. If we make the journey with the hope of getting security, we’re completely missing the point…All anxiety, all dissatisfaction, all the reasons for hoping that our experience could be different are rooted in our fear of death…Having a relationship with death in everyday life means we begin to be able to wait, to relax with insecurity, with panic, with embarrassment, with things not working out…Death and hopelessness provide proper motivation—proper motivation for living an insightful, compassionate life…But if we totally experience hopelessness, giving up all hope of alternatives to the present moment, we can have a joyful relationship with our lives, an honest, direct relationship, one that no longer ignores the reality of impermanence and death” (p.41-43).
This profession that a joyful relationship with ourselves and a compassionate life arises in our commitment to the present groundlessness. The unknown is the point. Desire for certainty is fueled by our fear of death yet our best chance at a full life cannot ignore our impermanence. NO RUNNING. Meaning lives in the beautiful chaos.
My desire to wash the ashes away, to sweep up the dust suggests that I am supposed to be any other way today than entirely covered in black splotches standing on hill made of loose gravel. Get comfortable Pema says. This balance and acceptance for what is IS where truth and joy lie; one that is not subject to impermanence. She continues,
“Contentment is a synonym for loneliness, cool loneliness, settling down with cool loneliness. We give up believing that being able to escape our loneliness is going to bring any lasting happiness or joy or sense of well-being or courage or strength” (54).
The idea that contentment or as the yogis call it “Santosha” is loneliness warps my mind a bit. I often equate contentment with satisfaction, an appreciation for what is in any present moment. Not settling for “fine,” but witnessing beauty and possibility in all moments. Yet, Pema says this satisfaction is lonely. The ability to be at home with oneself and not to look outside to fill any voids. To think that anything was ever missing or that you need to bring anything to replace the current scenario.
I wrestle again to not label these “surrenderings” as passive and lethargic. That relinquishing hope means giving up dreams. That accepting loneliness means avoiding connecting with others. Yet they are only disguised as “inaction.” I do believe one can dream but appreciate each step, and marvel as the dreams take different shapes. That is the piece requiring non-attachment. Having a dream, killing oneself to achieve it only to watch the false image you’ve been manifesting go up in smoke is suffering. Believing that your journey isn’t your own sole endeavor and that you need others to fix it to achieve happiness is suffering.
Instead, the actions here require an aggressive radical acceptance. Committing repeatedly to the jagged moments of life because these surprises reveal lessons made FOR YOU ALONE. Don’t hide or run from them. Accept and trust instead.
