Articles
It’s OK
by Charlotte Joko Beck
Enlightenment is the core of all religion. But we have quite often a strange picture of what it is. We equate the enlightened state with a state in which we have become quite perfect, quite nice and quiet, calm and accepting. And that’s not it.
I’m going to ask a series of questions about certain unpleasant states. I am not saying not to try to prevent these states, not to change them; I’m not saying we should not have strong feelings or prefer- ences about them. Nevertheless from these examples we can begin to get a clue; and when we have a clue we can see more clearly what we’re doing in practice. Here are the questions:
If I am told “Joko, you have one more day to live,” is that OK with me? Or if someone told you that, is it OK with you?
If I am in a severe accident, and my legs and arms have to be am- putated, is this OK with me? If that were to happen to you, is it OK?
If I were never again to receive a kind or friendly encouraging word from anyone, is this OK with me?
If I, for whatever reason, have to be bedridden and in pain for the rest of my life, is this OK with me?
If I make a complete fool of myself, in the worst possible circum- stances, is this OK with me?
If the close relationship that you dream of and hope for never comes to pass, is this OK?
If for whatever reason I have to live out my life as a beggar, with little food and no shelter, exposed to the cold, is this OK with me? With you?
If I must lose whatever or whomever I care for, is it OK with me?
Now, I can’t answer OK to any of those. And if you’re honest, I don’t think that any of you can either. But to answer “OK” is the enlightened state, if we understand what it means for something to be OK. For something to be OK, it doesn’t mean that I don’t scream, or cry, or protest, or hate it. Singing and dancing are the voice of the dharma, and screaming and moaning are also the voice of the dharma. For these things to be OK for me doesn’t mean that I’m happy about them. If they’re OK, what does that mean? What is the enlightened state? When there is no longer any separation between myself and the circumstances of my life, whatever they may be, that is it.
Of course, I presented a particularly unpleasant set of options. I might ask instead, “If you had to receive a billion dollars, is that OK with you?” And you might say, “Oh yes!” Yet to have a billion dol- lars presents almost as many difficulties as to be a beggar. In any case the question is whether it is OK with you to live with the cir- cumstances that life brings to you. That doesn’t mean blind accept- ance. It doesn’t mean if you’re ill, not to do all you can to get well; but sometimes things are inevitable—there’s very little we can do. Then is it OK?
You may protest that a person for whom any condition is OK is not human. And in a way you’re right; such a person is not human. Or we might say they are truly human. We can say it either way. But a person who has no aversion to any circumstance is not a human being as we usually know human beings. I’ve known a few people who approximated this condition. And this is the enlightened state: the state of a person who, to a great degree, can embrace any or all conditions, good or bad. I’m not talking about a saint; I’m talking about that state (often preceded by enormous struggle) when it’s OK. For instance, we often wonder how we will die. The key is not to learn to die bravely, but to learn not to need to die bravely. We may have that in small areas, but mostly we wish to be something other than we are. An interesting attitude indeed: not to learn to put up with any circumstance, but to learn not to need a particular atti- tude toward a circumstance.
Most therapies are intended to adjust my needs and wants to your needs and wants, to foster some peace between us. But suppose I have no objection to any of my needs or wants, or to any of your needs or wants—it’s all perfect as it is—then what needs to be adjus- ted? You may say that a person who could answer any of the ques- tions with “Yes” would be weird. I don’t think so. If you met such a person you wouldn’t notice anything odd. You would probably notice immense peace in being with that person. Someone who has little self-concern, who is willing to be as he or she is and everything else to be as it is, is truly loving. You would find such a person to be very supportive if that were appropriate, or quite nonsupportive if that were appropriate. And this person would know the distinction, would know what to do, because this person would be you.
So I want you to consider: what is the basis for you to be able to answer any condition of life with, “It’s OK. I have no complaints whatsoever”? This doesn’t mean that you are never upset, but there is a basis in which all of life rests, so that no matter what you can answer, “It’s OK.” And what we’re doing in our practice (whether you know it or not or whether you want to or not) is learning to know this basis, this fact that can enable us to say in time: “It’s OK.” Or, as in the Lord’s prayer: Thy will be done.
One way to evaluate our practice is to see whether life is more and more OK with us. And of course it’s fine when we can’t say that, but still it is our practice. When something’s OK with us we accept everything we are with it; we accept our protest, our struggle, our confusion, the fact that we’re not getting anywhere according to our view of things. And we are willing for all those things to continue: the struggle, the pain, the confusion. In a way that is the training of sesshin. As we sit through it an understanding slowly increases: “Yes, I’m going through this and I don’t like it—wish I could run out—and somehow, it’s OK.” That increases. For example: you may enjoy life with your partner, and think, “Wow, this is the one for me!” Suddenly he or she leaves you; the sharp suffering and the experience of that suffering is the OKness. As we sit in zazen, we’re digging our way into this koan, this paradox which supports our life. More and more we know that whatever happens, and however much we hate it, however much we have to struggle with it—in some way it’s OK. Am I making practice sound difficult? But practice is difficult. And strangely enough, those who practice like this are the people who hugely enjoy life, like Zorba the Greek. Ex- pecting nothing from life, they can enjoy it. When events happen that most people would call disastrous, they may struggle and fight and fuss, but still they enjoy—it’s OK.
Unless we completely misunderstand what sesshin practice is, more and more we appreciate the struggles, the weariness andpain, even as we dislike them. And let’s not forget the wonderful moments of sesshin: then our joy and appreciation may startle us. For such practice, a residue builds which is understanding. I’m not as interested in the enlightenment experiences as I am in the practice which builds this understanding, because as it grows, our life changes radically. It may not change in the way we expect it to change. We grow in understanding and appreciation of the perfection of each moment: our aching knees and back, the itch on our nose, our sweat. We grow in being able to say, “Yes, it’s OK.” The miracle of sitting zazen is this miracle of appreciation.
It would be very hard for me if I never again were to receive a kind or friendly word. Is this OK with me? Of course it’s not, but what would the practice be? If I were kidnapped in some barbaric country and shut away in a jail, what would the practice be? Things that drastic don’t happen to most of us. But on a lesser scale, disasters do happen and our pictures of how our lives should be are blown away. Then we have a choice: do we face the disaster directly and make it our practice or do we run once again, learning nothing and compounding our difficulties? If we want a life that’s peaceful and productive, what do we need? We need the ability (which we learn slowly and unwillingly) to be the experience of our life as it is. Most of the time I don’t want to do that, and I suspect that you don’t either. But that is what we’re here to learn. And surprisingly, we are learning it. Almost everyone after sesshin is happier. Maybe because it’s over, but not just that. After sesshin just a walk down the street is great. It wasn’t great before sesshin; but it’s great after sesshin. This attitude may not last very long. Three days later we’re already searching for the next solution. Still we have learned a little about the error of this kind of search. The more we have experienced life in all its guises as being OK, the less we are motivated to turn away from it in an illusory search for perfection.
From Everyday Zen: Love and Work by Charlotte Joko Beck