THEY STOLE MY TEENY TINY BUDDHA: LIVING THE DHARMA

Last week my office was broken into and we were robbed. I had the receptacle for my sangha donations on my shelf and my teeny tiny buddha sitting on my coffee table. The teeny tiny buddha was a gift from my 14-year-old son two years ago. I treasure that buddha. It is a gift from my son's heart that touches mine. I can recall how excited he was to give it to me. Through this little buddha, I felt seen by my son. As a parent, this was a gift of a lifetime. The buddha is with me at each sangha, in my hand for each dharma, on my altar for each meditation. His small, strong stature and joyful laughing expression manifests the story of the Golden Buddha that is a constant inspiration to me and one I love to tell others as a reminder of our essential, unshakeable worth that endures and shines, no matter what hardship we endure, or protective layers we wear to shield ourselves from the hurts and hardships of life.

There is an unmistakable message in this experience, an irony of sorts to teach me non-attachment — but the real lesson is hitting me a little deeper.

Here is the real dharma for me right now: hardship can really suck. And this is the gift. Yes, I wanted to have a temper tantrum and cry and shout that it's bullshit that someone would take my teeny tiny buddha. Take the dana money, use it for what you need. But my buddha, do you even know!? OK, so I did have a moment of that temper tantrum. And then, I paused, and I breathed, and I let myself drop into the truth of this dharma. Suffering exists, and the path out of suffering is a choice.

The true dharma comes through in the voices of teachers who have lived this to a degree that I have not. I remember The Book of Joy by Archbishop Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama, in which they not only share the ways in which they have been able to turn toward joy in the face of hardship, but the ways in which they have learned to first honor their raw humanity.

It is the dialogue between the two that reveals a balance. The Dalai Lama talks about Mental Immunity, whereby we "make a distinction between the rational level and the emotional level." This distinction allows us to accept, at a rational level, that there is a serious problem. And at an emotional level we can remain calm. He says, "Like the ocean has many waves on the surface, but deep down it is quite calm." This strikes me as an evolved practice and one in which I have a lot to learn (no more temper tantrums, I guess!) And the truth is, I'm often not proud of my strong emotional response. Archbishop Tutu's perspective allows for this. "I think we've got to accept ourselves for who we are, and then hope to grow." He encourages us to not "berate ourselves for negative thoughts. They are natural and unavoidable. They are only made more intense by the glue of guilt and shame when we think we should not have them." He is speaking of self-compassion.

The Buddha talked about two arrows: one is the inevitable arrow of suffering that is the human condition. The second arrow is the arrow we impose on ourselves by how we respond to suffering. The second arrow is where we have a choice. How do we meet our suffering, and what practices do we put in place to be compassionate with ourselves, without getting trapped in reactive emotions or by beating ourselves up for having negative thoughts and emotions? Where do we find that calm below the turbulent seas of our humanity?

I've just finished The Sun Does Shine by Anthony Ray Hinton, a man who spent 30 years on death row for crimes he did not commit.

A man who served hard time because of racial systemic injustice. His honest and heroic story touches at the heart of this living dharma. He says, "Despair was a choice. Hatred was a choice. Anger was a choice. I still had choices, and that knowledge rocked me. I could choose to give up or to hang on. Hope was a choice. Faith was a choice. And more than anything else, love was a choice. Compassion was a choice."

We do not have to suffer to these extremes to recognize this choice. I do not have to reach to my bookshelves to find these examples. The stories of Hinton, the voices of the Archbishop and the Dalai Lama have a depth of wisdom that gives pause and wakes me up. I can also see this dharma in my daily life. I am fortunate to have everyday heroes in my day-to-day work, with educators who continue to show up with vibrance, creativity, and belief in the students they serve. Friends who navigate gnarly cancer with humor and courage. Parents who, though suffering through great loss, keep on living, caring, loving.

I do not need to linger too long in my own experiences to unpack a deeper meaning. This dharma is right here. This dharma is clear. I can choose to take care of those feelings of sadness, loss, frustration. I can choose to turn toward gratitude, to let go a little, to trust, and to stay present. I choose to live the dharma with all of my humanity - its flaws and gifts, messiness and thoughtfulness, its fumbles and its Grace. What will you choose?