The Buddha's Story by Chris Matheson

Author:Chris Matheson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pitchstone Publishing
Published: 2020-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

16

Sometimes during these sangha-building years I would venture into a village to speak to the people who lived there, the “householders,” as I called them. These conversations, I will not lie, were at times frustrating. I had known from the beginning obviously that there would be many people who would have far too much “dust in their eyes” to grasp my profound ideas. I had expressed that very misgiving to Brahma, in fact, so many years before. It was never easy dealing with such debased souls. I remember one particular householder, a man in his late forties, stocky and broad-faced, looking at me one day and saying, “But there are people who enjoy children, sir.”

“They may think they enjoy children, but they are mistaken. What they are experiencing is not ‘joy,’ you see, but rather misery. I repeat, do not love your children, my friends, rather detach from them; detach from everyone beloved to you, in fact.” (RH)

“But what exactly is wrong with love, sir?” the stocky man continued.

“Love is nothing but a trap, my friend. (MJ 39: SZJ 21) Consider the following situation, if you will: You have a beloved. ‘How I hope my beloved doesn’t die,’ you think to yourself. Then, not long afterwards, ‘Oh, now my beloved is dead and I am so terribly sad.’ Cut off all your feelings for this person, however, and you will not fear their death, nor will you grieve it. For the man set free of love in this manner (and I am speaking now of love for a specific person obviously because it goes without saying that you should love all living beings in the entire universe just like I do), for this liberated man, there is no pain. ‘Let my beloved get sick and die, I feel nothing,’ is what he will think.”

“Are you saying that it is wrong to care for others, sir?”

“I am saying that it is right to care for yourself and to let others do the same.” (SY 47:9–13)

“I have a child, sir, a son,” interjected a second, taller householder. “It is very important to me that he be well and happy. I cannot understand what is wrong with that feeling.”

“Let me ask you this, friend,” I replied. “If your son was killed tomorrow, would you be sad about it?”

“I would be utterly bereft, sir.”

“And this is because you are attached to your son, correct?”

“Yes, of course.”

“But tell me, my friend, before your son was born were you attached to him?”

“Was I—? Well, no, because he didn’t exist yet.”

“So it was only once he existed that you became attached to him, is that right?”

“Ye-es.”

“But if he was killed then he would not exist anymore, would he?” (SY 42:11)

“What? I don’t …”

“My son Rahula could be slowly and horribly tortured to death and I would not even care. This is what you should aspire to, friends.”

The stockier householder piped up once again. “I for one quite like life, sir.”

“I’m sure you think you do.”

“No, sir, I do like life.

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