There Are No Teachers
I’ve always been tickled by and loved the phrase from the Zen tradition, “There are no Zen teachers, only teachers who practice Zen.” And I’ve “understood” it’s meaning since I first heard it: the “Way,” or “Wisdom,” cannot truly be taught by people but instead learned or remembered through living. It’s a sweet meaning. But I don’t think I’ve felt the phrase in my bones like I do now ever before.
I was going to title this post, “Teachers are bullshit,” but thought that might read a little too harsh as the first line, and be easily misconstrued. It’s been a rough few days. I’ve been contemplating (or maybe more accurate would be “ruminating on”) a number of really significant life decisions in the past few weeks that have come to a head this week, amidst an unusual amount of really crushing low blood sugars, and punctuated by an incredibly frustrating incident nearly falling through my roof in two places last night, resulting in some significant leaks during the ensuing rainstorm. So, I’ve been exhausted and overwhelmed.
Multiple kind, loving people have said to me things today along the lines of, “What I think you would say to me is” or “What you’ve said to me in the past is,” and whatever followed seemed completely sound and level headed. But it didn’t get through; I found little solace in these kind words. “I’m stuck in a fog of negativity,” I said to Sydney this morning. Where is the “teacher” presence who so readily offered these words to others? No doubt they were offered to others from a place of genuine understanding. And I do feel proud to have become increasingly able to take care of myself, too in recent years. But today, that “me” was nowhere to be found.
In fact, that “me” doesn’t exist. It’s just an experience I sometimes have of being connected with the same wisdom that’s accessible to all of us. That wisdom is all around and can be found in everyone, but it’s counterproductive to try to generate; I can become adept at sailing and know the right routes, but the way the wind blows is not up to me. In fact, the wind has nothing at all to do with me and doesn’t take into account my preferences. I experience that wiser mind, that “teaching presence,” in that way.
If I’m fully honest with myself, I have no idea what I’m doing right now. That component of this “fog of negativity” is actually spot-on. I feel uncertain and tense about many of the variables I can’t control, and I feel even worse about the variables I can control in these decisions. The story goes that I’ve never been good at making difficult decisions. But of course, that’s not quite accurate either. There is a wind that comes and goes that is a sharp, decisive thinker. It’s just not here now.
I think this piece should say something about meditation, right? I haven’t sat much in the last two days, which is unusual for me. Sitting would be a good thing for me now. I hope to sit down with little hope that a wise mind will appear, and strong intention to be with whatever is coming up, whatever that is. That is the kindest thing I can do for myself. Tomorrow, perhaps if I’m still in a fog of negativity, that will be a little more OK for me. The next day, while it still may be there, maybe I’ll be at the point of thinking it’s funny (I will admit to laughing a little bit about last night’s roof escapades within this last hour). And on I will go, one step closer to … the next step, whether that is a step into the softest most wonderful slipper, or a pile of dog poop (or a scorpion, as I’ve recently learned have infested my neighbor’s home). This step is alright. It always was, even when I forgot it was, and even now when it doesn’t feel like it. My troubles seem to have not disturbed the wonderful crickets who sing me to sleep every night. I feel thankful to have enough of a level head now to listen to them.
