Life is a Teacher
The following was submitted by Tracy in Arkansas. Tracy is one of our Dharma Friends newsletter subscribers and his essay was shared in our most recent newsletter. Please enjoy the wisdom of his perspective and let it help you see life as a teacher.
I have been watching a wasp’s nest being built on the outside glass of my window. A few months ago a single wasp began regurgitating wood pulp and - forgive my unscientific vocabulary - wasp spit, turning the mixture with its mouth and front legs forming a tube. The process continued until several tubes were made and glued together with more pulpy wasp spit. One day my celly and I looked just in time to see a new wasp emerge from a tube. Immediately the youngster began diligently working on the nest. Four months later and over one hundred days into this interminable coronavirus lockdown, there are nine wasps and a substantial nest outside the window. And the wasps build on. Last week as I settled in my chair for my morning meditation, I looked at the wasps and realized they are teachers.
I first heard of Pema Chodron a while back when she was interviewed by Bill Moyers on his PBS TV show called “Now”. Over the years I’ve read many of her books; during these last twelve years in prison I’ve read them again and again. In the prison chapel I’ve listened to CDs and watched DVDs of her teaching. I’ve come to consider her my main teacher. I haven’t given her any say in the matter, but I always hoped she wouldn’t mind, especially since she didn’t have to see how poor a student I can be.
Once, wrapped tight in my cocoon, chest tightening with shenpa, I was suddenly yelling at a friend and slamming my hand on my desk. We had been having a normal conversation until I became a raving lunatic over some absolutely trivial disagreement. In the middle of my rant, from somewhere in my mind I heard Pema’s little giggle and her voice say, “See, you’re hooked! (giggle)”. It really happened that way. And it surprised the hell out of me. I stopped yelling, breathed deeply a few times, and was no longer a lunatic. I apologized for my outburst. Normally I would have spent the rest of the night and the next day beating myself up, but I remembered that Pema taught me I could be happy that I saw what was happening and changed direction. Imagine that. The teachings work.
Another teacher whose voice I’ve heard over my shoulder is Joy Fox. Joy has visited our Lotus Life sangha several times at the federal low security prison in Forrest City, Arkansas. We were disappointed this past spring when the pandemic lock down cancelled a weekend retreat in the prison chapel that Joy was scheduled to lead. Joy teaches with humor as well as wisdom.
When I’m about to mindlessly give in to some shady part of myself, I’ll hear Joy say “Looky thar!” I stop and look at what I’m about to say or do, and I’ll do something different. Joy encourages us to laugh at ourselves, to take comfort in our silliness. I highly recommend a practice Joy teaches. When you first get up in the morning, cross your eyes, stick out your tongue and say “Bleh!” Do it a few times. It’s a great way to start the day.
One morning last week a tree frog climbed up and settled on the outside of our window well below the wasp’s nest. It found a good spot in the sun, drew in its legs and sucker tipped toes, closed its eyes and slept the rest of the day safe from threat. The wasps tended to their construction oblivious to their green neighbor. I had yet another teacher.
Recently I’ve been reading Pema’s book “No Time to Lose”, her guide to “The Way of the Bodhisattva”, a text by the 8th century sage Shantideva. She writes that the Tibetan word for teacher is “Kalyanamitra”, which means “spiritual friend”. A spiritual friend is someone who doesn’t let you get away with your mindlessness. Pema also reminds me to look at things the way they are; to be present. She says “Stay. Don’t let your mind run off”. It is in this that she would find me a poor student. Absent minded doesn’t begin to describe me. I am rarely present.
These teachers of mine are always with me. When I am mindful I see and hear them. And when I’m off chasing the monkeys and following the curious elephants in my mind, that’s when my teachers really show up. The kalyanamitra I need will come to me bringing the teaching I need to hear at that moment. It’s uncanny. The right teacher and the right teaching. Every time.
The wasps and the frog don’t have the advantage I have. They lack a precious human birth. They can’t, in their current realm, wake up. They’re nevertheless teachers. They teach what I think is maybe the most important Dharma teaching; just be. Be. Do what is before you that needs to be done; like the teaching says, sleep when you are tired and eat when you are hungry. The wasps and the frog remind me that the Dharma also teaches, and as long as I’m practicing I might manage to be present enough to hear. On occasion, I might wake up a little bit.
My spiritual friends surround me; the grass, the sun, the rain. This prison, the prisoners, the guard; even the hate and the violence are my spiritual friends. I am, like the wasps, the Bodhisattvas, the Buddhas and the frogs, a part of the Dharma. It is important to remember that we are all teaching something to someone, all our lives. Thank you, Pema. Thank you, Joy. Thank you, my teachers.