The Process

Yesterday I finished Deepak Chopra’s novel about Gautama Buddha. Since I haven’t been going to church while in Texas, I’ve felt a stronger need to do spiritual work on my own, which I do every day anyway. While visiting Dallas a few weeks ago, I participated in a group discussion at the Cathedral of Hope. For Lent they are reading a work titled “The Last Week”, by Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan, both current day Christian scholars, and both very liberal. I suppose the title needs no translation. Chopak’s fictional account of the human being who eventually came to be known as Buddha concludes with an Epilogue and a chapter titled "The Art of Non-Doing." In the novel, Chopra has the character of Gautama say:

“In time I concluded that my struggles could last a lifetime, and to what end? I will still be a slave to karma and a prisoner in this world. What is this karma that visits us with so much suffering? Karma is the body’s endless desires. Karma is the memory of past pleasure we want to repeat and past pain we want to avoid. It’s the delusions of ego and the storm of fear and anger that besieges the mind.” (“Buddha: A Story of Enlightenment,” Deepak Chopra, Harper Collins, 2007)

According to the “Truths” articulated in basic Buddhist principles: life contains suffering; suffering has a cause, and the cause can be known; and suffering can be brought to an end. The path to ending this suffering, of course, is complex and requires serious intent and discipline. The Path includes right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort (and the three more abstract “things”--right view or perspective, right mindfulness, and right concentration). These are the eight things that will open the way to peace instead of pain.

I am reminded of Don Miguel Ruiz’s take on “rightness” in “The Four Agreements”, and of a principle that is basic to life for those who are drawn to the social justice that also has strong roots in the Bible. In Micah of the Old Testament is found the very prescription of how we are to make our way on this journey: “He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8) Anne Lamott, who is one of my favorite contemporary writers and thinkers—and also just happens to be one of the funniest—has this to say in her book about her faith journey: "I took a long, deep breath and wondered as usual, where to start. You start where you are, is the secret of life. You do the next right thing you can see. Then the next.” (“Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith,” Anne Lamott)

Doing the next right thing is not a unique principle. “Do the next right thing," is a guideline for living in Alcoholics Anonymous (AA). The Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. is quoted as saying "The time is always right to do what is right." Other persons of note espouse the same notion; indeed organizations are built around it. I suppose that for most it is part of our fiber, even when we are lost in the tangles and snarls of just trying to live our lives. Perhaps it is the one great challenge of being human.

I’ve been alone much of the time I’ve been in Texas. Aside from brief but regular exchanges with my oldest sister, who lives in the big house about a football field’s length from my front gate, a couple of short trips to visit family and friends, and the errands that have taken me “to town”, as we say in the country, I’ve been here working in the yard and house, trying to keep yard and house from completely overtaking me, and getting ready for my antiques market—a daunting task for sure, but one which I’m trying to take in stride since there’s not much I can do at this point to change the outcome.

I’ve had plenty of time for reflection...plenty of time to practice my breathing. I wouldn’t know how to measure any ground I’m gaining, except to say that the stacks around here look a little different, and I’m remembering to breathe—a little more naturally each day. I’m remembering to remind myself not to let the baggage and anger of others overtake me, although that is not easy for me. I am more readily stopping to examine my own ego and “the storm of fear and anger” that can so easily have its way with me. My long-time friend Jane, who lives about an hour’s drive to the east, told me earlier this week that I seem much more relaxed, “even though you’re still impatient with other drivers”, she added later in the visit. Well, it is a process, isn’t it?

The Process—Normangee, Texas (March 28, 2009)
R. Harold Hollis