I have noted some benefit coming out of my personal challenge to blog daily. And it isn’t that I am now more familiar with the Dhammapada than I ever had been before, although there is benefit in that, to be sure. No, the benefit I am experiencing is subtle, and yet profound. Because when I began this self-imposed task, I had only recently said goodbye to my partner. If I were to retreat in anyway as a reaction to his leaving the country, it made sense to retreat into the Dhamma, to seek refuge.
By sticking to this task of blogging daily about each chapter in the Dhammapada, I have diverted my sorrow into something more positive. It’s still there, but it feels diffused because I didn’t give it the opportunity to fester and build. And in the process, I’ve been able to sort through my feelings, my attachments. I have been able to contemplate in a way my relationship with someone very dear to me and face what goes on internally when separation occurs.
This sounds so analytical, so clinical, so unfeeling; but I assure you, it has been anything but a dissociative experience. One thing I can say is that this has been eye-opening. I have contemplated love in ways I never have before. I can remember my first experiences with men and at that time love was instantaneous and filled with infatuation. It was an all or nothing endeavor that often left me feeling like a gutted corpse. But slowly, painfully, this addictive behavior (we say things like “I need you, I got to have you, I can’t live without you!” My god, we could be just as well be talking about Vicodin) gave way to something more appreciative, more like the true kind of loving kindness, metta, that the Buddha talked about.
And so it is with a very different pair of eyes that I approach the Piyavagga today than, let’s say, nine years ago when I first encountered the Dhamma.
“Having applied himself
to what was not his own task,
and not having applied himself
to what was,
having disregarded the goal
to grasp at what he held dear,
he now envies those
who kept after themselves,
took themselves
to task.”
I’m not envious of those who have taken up vows, who have followed a monastic path. But I do wonder with greater frequency what bliss they have found that would cause them to give up on this wonderful and painful but beautifully sensual life.
“Don’t ever — regardless —
be conjoined with what’s dear
or undear.
It’s painful
not to see what’s dear
or to see what’s not.
So don’t make anything dear,
for it’s dreadful to be far
from what’s dear.
No bonds are found
for those for whom
there’s neither dear
nor undear.”
Not for a minute do I believe these verses to be telling me that not making anything dear means not to love anything or anyone. In this context, I believe the word “dear” is being used to mean something that is so valued that I must have it, I cannot be separated from it. So I can love someone and not be selfishly possessive. As Elton John sang, “butterflies are free to fly, fly away, high away, bye bye.”
The next set of verses are somewhat difficult to interpret usefully.
“From what’s dear is born grief,
from what’s dear is born fear.
For one freed from what’s dear
there’s no grief
— so how fear?
From what’s loved is born grief,
from what’s loved is born fear.
For one freed from what’s loved
there’s no grief
— so how fear?
From delight is born grief,
from delight is born fear.
For one freed from delight
there’s no grief
— so how fear?
From sensuality is born grief,
from sensuality is born fear.
For one freed from sensuality
there’s no grief
— so how fear?
From craving is born grief,
from craving is born fear.
For one freed from craving
there’s no grief
— so how fear?”
I get the idea of being freed from craving, freed from sensuality, and even freed from delight, or that is a bit more difficult. Does being freed from delight mean that I no longer feel that bubbly emotion we call delight? Does it mean I cannot delight is a lovely poem? A beautiful sunset.? A kind gesture? And when it comes to the idea of being freed from what’s dear, from what’s loved is more difficult. Am I free from Benny because he’s gone? And does that mean I stop loving him? This is a bit more knotty.
The notion of delight, or affection, gets turned around a bit in the final verses. For example, look at the last verses.
“A man long absent
comes home safe from afar.
His kin, his friends, his companions,
delight in his return.
In just the same way,
when you’ve done good
& gone from this world
to the world beyond,
your good deeds receive you —
as kin, someone dear
come home.”
In this example, the fact that a man’s return after a long absence to his kin, friends, etc., brings delight to these people is used as a positive to demonstrate the rewards one can experience by doing good: after death, the merit gathered welcomes you as if a long lost friend. Obviously, in the first part the people described held great affection for the returning man; they held him dearly. That’s a good thing, because it is used as a literary method to explain the workings of kamma and the accumulation of merit in our lives.
So it would seem to be a fine line between the type of “holding someone dear” that is infatuation or obsession, and this which is loving-kindness, a type of affection that is nurturing and non-binding rather than clinging and dependent.
When I think about it, I have to wonder, how can you have happiness without some type of object that is the source of that happiness? Or at least the catalyst for that happiness? The Buddha taught that all states of being are conditioned upon a prior state of being or condition. But Nibbana is an unconditioned state even though I cannot attain it unless I break all conditions, which is a condition itself.
Alright, I’m getting dizzy. Suffice it to say that I believe in love.
By sticking to this task of blogging daily about each chapter in the Dhammapada, I have diverted my sorrow into something more positive. It’s still there, but it feels diffused because I didn’t give it the opportunity to fester and build. And in the process, I’ve been able to sort through my feelings, my attachments. I have been able to contemplate in a way my relationship with someone very dear to me and face what goes on internally when separation occurs.
This sounds so analytical, so clinical, so unfeeling; but I assure you, it has been anything but a dissociative experience. One thing I can say is that this has been eye-opening. I have contemplated love in ways I never have before. I can remember my first experiences with men and at that time love was instantaneous and filled with infatuation. It was an all or nothing endeavor that often left me feeling like a gutted corpse. But slowly, painfully, this addictive behavior (we say things like “I need you, I got to have you, I can’t live without you!” My god, we could be just as well be talking about Vicodin) gave way to something more appreciative, more like the true kind of loving kindness, metta, that the Buddha talked about.
And so it is with a very different pair of eyes that I approach the Piyavagga today than, let’s say, nine years ago when I first encountered the Dhamma.
“Having applied himself
to what was not his own task,
and not having applied himself
to what was,
having disregarded the goal
to grasp at what he held dear,
he now envies those
who kept after themselves,
took themselves
to task.”
I’m not envious of those who have taken up vows, who have followed a monastic path. But I do wonder with greater frequency what bliss they have found that would cause them to give up on this wonderful and painful but beautifully sensual life.
“Don’t ever — regardless —
be conjoined with what’s dear
or undear.
It’s painful
not to see what’s dear
or to see what’s not.
So don’t make anything dear,
for it’s dreadful to be far
from what’s dear.
No bonds are found
for those for whom
there’s neither dear
nor undear.”
Not for a minute do I believe these verses to be telling me that not making anything dear means not to love anything or anyone. In this context, I believe the word “dear” is being used to mean something that is so valued that I must have it, I cannot be separated from it. So I can love someone and not be selfishly possessive. As Elton John sang, “butterflies are free to fly, fly away, high away, bye bye.”
The next set of verses are somewhat difficult to interpret usefully.
“From what’s dear is born grief,
from what’s dear is born fear.
For one freed from what’s dear
there’s no grief
— so how fear?
From what’s loved is born grief,
from what’s loved is born fear.
For one freed from what’s loved
there’s no grief
— so how fear?
From delight is born grief,
from delight is born fear.
For one freed from delight
there’s no grief
— so how fear?
From sensuality is born grief,
from sensuality is born fear.
For one freed from sensuality
there’s no grief
— so how fear?
From craving is born grief,
from craving is born fear.
For one freed from craving
there’s no grief
— so how fear?”
I get the idea of being freed from craving, freed from sensuality, and even freed from delight, or that is a bit more difficult. Does being freed from delight mean that I no longer feel that bubbly emotion we call delight? Does it mean I cannot delight is a lovely poem? A beautiful sunset.? A kind gesture? And when it comes to the idea of being freed from what’s dear, from what’s loved is more difficult. Am I free from Benny because he’s gone? And does that mean I stop loving him? This is a bit more knotty.
The notion of delight, or affection, gets turned around a bit in the final verses. For example, look at the last verses.
“A man long absent
comes home safe from afar.
His kin, his friends, his companions,
delight in his return.
In just the same way,
when you’ve done good
& gone from this world
to the world beyond,
your good deeds receive you —
as kin, someone dear
come home.”
In this example, the fact that a man’s return after a long absence to his kin, friends, etc., brings delight to these people is used as a positive to demonstrate the rewards one can experience by doing good: after death, the merit gathered welcomes you as if a long lost friend. Obviously, in the first part the people described held great affection for the returning man; they held him dearly. That’s a good thing, because it is used as a literary method to explain the workings of kamma and the accumulation of merit in our lives.
So it would seem to be a fine line between the type of “holding someone dear” that is infatuation or obsession, and this which is loving-kindness, a type of affection that is nurturing and non-binding rather than clinging and dependent.
When I think about it, I have to wonder, how can you have happiness without some type of object that is the source of that happiness? Or at least the catalyst for that happiness? The Buddha taught that all states of being are conditioned upon a prior state of being or condition. But Nibbana is an unconditioned state even though I cannot attain it unless I break all conditions, which is a condition itself.
Alright, I’m getting dizzy. Suffice it to say that I believe in love.
