Adjusted for Inflation
The past few weeks have been stuffed nonstop with suffering. So many loved ones around me were hurting so badly, I felt like full time 911. And now that I have wiggled out from a pile of pathos and put my Buddhist glasses on, I can see that despite the unique details of each situation, all the pain actually came from the same damned thing: great expectations.
Probably the clearest case of how high hopes can lay you low was my dear friend's 22-year-old grandson tying himself in paralyzing knots of worry about his mother, making himself literally so sick, he was unable to eat or get out of bed. This was understandable since blood is thicker than brains when it comes to the mother-child bond. Even though this mother long ago abandoned this child, now that she was back begging for help, he was wrestling like Jacob with the angel. What was the "right" thing to do?
As it happens, his mother has a chemical imbalance that makes her what we call "mentally ill." Whether she's bipolar or schizophrenic is unclear because, for two decades years, she's medicated herself with street drugs, especially crack cocaine. That's what led her away from her 4-year-old son into a degrading odyssey through a wretched netherworld more squalid and sordid than anything Dickens or Hieronymus Bosch ever depicted, a propulsion into a hell realm where she even stole money right out his pocket while hugging him. Now she'd come to a full stop: jail, for drug dealing, and she was beseeching him by phone and letter to bail her out, to get her out of there. She was pulling his heartstrings, promising the moon.
Nothing had changed for 18 horrific years, yet my friend's grandson thought if just this one more time, he gave her the money and bailed her out, he could save her and all would be well. That's what he wanted: all well happily ever after. All the devils and demons forever gone away in the light of this new day. What he said was: "I have to try this one time, just to prove to myself that I did everything I could. And maybe she really will come clean."
My friend asked me to help, so I fed her grandson dinner garnished with a little Buddhist advice. Whenever students ask my teacher what to do when confronted by street beggars, I explained, he always tells them they have to be clear about the situation so they don't make matters worse. Causing harm is bad for your karma. "Compassion doesn't mean giving money to everybody who asks. If somebody is begging for money to go buy more drinks or drugs, you shouldn't give it to them," he says. "Give them an orange if you have one or give them nothing. It's okay. Maybe this way you are actually helping them to get help to stop their suffering." Since figuratively bailing his mother out of difficulties for years hadn't changed anything, perhaps, I hinted, this time letting her stew in her own juice would be more beneficial. Maybe it would finally force her to confront her circumstances and want to change. Sometimes not doing anything is the best way to help somebody get their own act together.
Compassion also means taking care of all sentient beings, ALL without exception. That means you too, I said. I told him he had as much an obligation to free himself from suffering as he did to free his mother. In fact, he had a bigger one because other people like his grandparents and his employer were depending on him. Failure to deal with his own suffering would dramatically increase theirs--and his. He had to make himself strong for others and that in the end would make him strong enough to do the "right" thing for his mother.
As he went out the door, I hollered one more bit of advice: "There is no 'right' thing. And there is no 'wrong' thing. That's just your imagination playing trick or treat with you. It's your intention that really counts. Take care of yourself. That's always the right thing when others need you. "
The next morning my friend called to say her grandson was a changed person, much relieved and more relaxed, even smiling again. Yes. The Buddha had given him permission to let go--of what he had no control over, his mother.
And as it turned out, he didn't bail her out. She was eventually freed, having turned states' witness. She is now waiting at a motel for the attorney general to get her into a state-run rehab program, something she wants very much. Last week she went to her parents house where her son also lives. She walked through it without stealing and sat down quietly to enjoy a family dinner. "I"m worth more than I thought," she said out of the blue. "I deserve better than I've given myself. You make me see that."
~Sandy Garson"Wordsmithing to attest how the Dharma saved me from myself!"
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posted by Sandy Garson @ 3:44 PM
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