in the grass has no business being in a tree.” Or, “I'm going to give that snake a piece of my mind.”
Not only do we give people a piece of our mind, we give them a piece of our happiness, wholeness, focus, and sometimes, a piece of our health.
A still mind sees what is here. A busy mind sees what is not here. The one who is present is nothing more or less than the one who is present. Therefore, look at the person who is here. We can cover that person with whatever thoughts we wish, but that won't get us a different individual.
Our lives are filled with useless battles because our minds are filled with useless thoughts. We never finish thinking about anything. We carry around unhappy scenes from the past as if they were still happening, and we chew on the memory of whatever we just did. This glut of thoughts profoundly affects the world we perceive and the life we live. A man who sees his mother in every woman he meets can't see the women he meets. This one unnecessary thought lands him in solitary confinement and assures he will die alone. A mother who can't accept her son-in-law into her heart because he has “a lot of metal” (say, double earrings, a nose stud, and something rumored to be somewhere else) merely attacks her own capacity to love and be happy. She doesn't change the son-in-law and she doesn't eradicate her daughter's love for him. Yet this one unnecessary thought means her daughter will not have the mother she needs.
These last two are somewhat poisonous examples of what happens when we don't let go. Yet throughout each day, failure to let go can eat up every small chance we have to be happy. Just trying to write this page has been a typical example.
Weenies
About an hour ago, our son Jordan asked me if I could fix him “weenies the way Mother fixes them.” I stopped writing and headed into the kitchen where John, who is now twenty, asked me if I could look at a business proposal he had out-lined for his managerial accounting class. Gayle, being a banker's daughter, ordinarily would handle this one too, but she's at Trader Joe's buying organic yogurt.
“As soon as I fix Jordan's weenies,” I said.
“Oh,” John said, “would you fix me some too?”
“Yes,” I said, through only gently clenched teeth.
Seasoned with my ambivalence over having been asked to stop writing about kindness and peace and actually practice them, the free-range weenies soon were simmering away in free-range chicken broth—oxymorons cooking in an oxymoron watched over by a large oxymoron.
So there I was thinking about how I wasn't getting to do what I wanted to do; wondering where Gayle and I went wrong if our boys couldn't fix their own weenies; thinking it was a good thing we were on record against forcing kids to be vegetarians; and debating whether a dead free-range chicken was more spiritual than a dead chicken.
In a sense, we all have two minds—one whole and peaceful, the other, fragmented and busy. I was definitely in my busy mind. Just then I remembered Gayle's final words as she headed out the door: “I think we should say in the book, ‘Make your state of mind more important than what you are doing.’”
Oh.
And maybe apply that to ourselves as well?
If it were possible to summarize all mystical teachings in a single sentence, this one would come close: Make your state of mind more important than what you are doing.
I have practiced letting go enough to know that it feels a whole lot better than not letting go. Although my mental state wasn't too bad, it was not whole, happy, or at peace. Why must even this little bit of misery be endured? Why can't a couple of small tasks be done happily?
My mistake was the one Gayle indicated. I had made circumstances more important than my state of mind. Now I had to reverse that. I had to let go. In my experience of this process, I've come to see that it involves three steps:
The first step of letting go: To remove what obstructs your experience of wholeness and peace, you must first look at the obstruction.
Well, I wasn't out-and-out upset about the weenies, but I was a little resentful about what I was not getting to do, and a little conflicted about what I was doing. As I went deeper into these feelings, I found the obstructing thought: “I shouldn't have to do what I don't want to do.” I looked at that idea for a moment and realized I didn't even believe it. I do things all the time I don't want to do. In this case I wanted to fix my boys this food and I wanted to read John's proposal.
Check off step 1.
Before we go to step 2, I want to emphasize one aspect of letting go that is crucial to its success. In seeking clarity about what I wanted, I would have sabotaged the entire letting-go process if I had slipped into wanting my boys, Gayle, or the situation to change.
The moment I think, “I shouldn't be fixing these weenies,” all I can do is wait to be saved from the weenies. Maybe the electricity will go off and I can announce, “I tried, boys, but there's nothing I can do about it.” Then I can shake my head in frustration and go back to my writing. Or perhaps Gayle will get back early and take over. Or maybe John will come into the kitchen and say, “Dad, you've been cooking weenies all your life. I think it's time I took over. You go back to writing.”
Whenever our desire is for people to change or circumstances to go our way, we are not taking responsibility for our state of mind. Because now all we can do is be a victim and wait to be saved. We obviously can't let go if we are waiting to be saved. Certainly there are real victims, but most of us put ourselves in this role needlessly. And we do it every day.
When our goal is to maintain our sense of wholeness and connectedness regardless of what the day throws at us, we simply will not become a victim. Nothing is “beyond our control” because we are not interested in control. We let the people and situations we encounter be who and what they are. We are not motivated to reform or remake them. This doesn't mean we like how everyone behaves, nor does it mean that we fail to protect ourselves and loved ones from destructive people. But if we commit ourselves to changing even pleasant people when they don't want to change, we instantly become victims of their reactions. Each little response to our efforts pulls at the strings of our emotions.
For example, possibly you have been amazed, as I often have, by how frequently drivers put themselves in danger just to teach another driver a lesson. They will speed up to let someone know that he or she should not be cutting in line. They will tailgate a driver who is going too slowly. They will “run up the back” of a driver who just dangerously entered traffic. They will cut off someone who just cut them off.
Those who take it upon themselves to reform the driving public are classic victims. They have a good commute or a good trip only to the degree that other drivers act like they got the message. But other drivers never get the message.
No one has ever been made more sensitive or more thoughtful by being judged, bullied, or frightened. Putting pressure on others doesn't change their hearts. It merely engages us in a pointless conflict that splits our mind and muddles our emotions.
The second step of letting go: To go beyond the obstruction, you must be certain that you want to.
This was easy. I wanted to cook weenies in peace. I wanted to grant a simple request from my boys in peace. I wanted to be able to break with my personal agenda in peace. I indeed wanted peace more than I wanted the thought that was obstructing peace. I took a moment to probe my honesty about all of that. I found it was pretty solid.
