Who Ordered this Truckload of Dung?

I was just listening to a talk by one of my favorite Buddhist teachers, Ajahn Brahm.  Ajahn Brahm is a UK-born monk of the Thai Forest tradition who lives in a monastery near Perth, Australia. 

During the talk, Ajahn Brahm told his well-known parable about the truck of dung arriving at your door. I cried when I listened to the story, it resonated with me so strongly. So, I thought I'd transcribe it for you all. Enjoy!

(Warning: there are a few swear words in the story...)

Who ordered this truck-load of dung?

Life is like this.  You’re sitting in your monastery, or you’re sitting at home or in your office, and then someone delivers you a whole truckload of shit.  It’s right in front of your house or office. 

There are two things about this delivery of shit in your life.  The most important thing is, you did not order it.  Life is like that.  ‘Why me?’ you say. You didn’t deserve it, this thing just happened to you.  You didn’t order it and you’re not responsible for it.  

But, the second thing is that no-one saw it coming so you can’t ring up someone and get them to take it away.  You’re stuck with it.  So the first thing is that these things can happen and no-ones to blame.  And the second thing is that you’re stuck with it. 

But, there’s something you can do with the dung. You can find the nearest garden, and dig it in.  It takes a lot of hard work to dig in the suffering, the disappointments, the diseases, the tragedies of life. But you’ve got no choice.  

Actually you have got a choice, because what many people do with the dung of their life is to put it in their pockets.  They put it in their handbag, they shove it up their shirt; they carry it around with them.  You lose a lot of friends if you carry around shit. So, you should dig it in your garden. It’s hard work – maybe you only do half a bucket or one bucket a day, but you dig it in. 

And after a while, we call it the miracle, the miracle of Dhamma (of truth).  The miracle is that after a while the dung has disappeared and in its place you have the most magnificent garden.  It’s the garden of wisdom, of courage, of compassion. Not just the kindness and compassion you get from books – but the kindness and compassion you get by embracing, understanding and digging in your problems.  

This is the garden of the heart. 

The Big Sqeeze - a meditation on suffering

Tonight I have a bad case of what Pema Chodron calls 'the big squeeze.' (Don’t worry, I don't mean diarrhoea! This blog attempts to be honest but I wouldn't go that far.)
 

Pema Chodron, a Western Buddhist nun, uses 'the big squeeze' to mean the difficult issues and feelings that replay over and over again in our lives.  For some it might be fear and anger, for others dullness or boredom. I think 'the big squeeze' is such a great term, because it describes viscerally what it feels like when those really tough emotions come along. I literally feel like someone is contracting and clenching my gut when I'm feeling two of my huge squeezes - confusion and numbness.
 

So, tonight, up pops these big squeezes. The numbness makes my body feel sodden and thick, as though I'm soaked with water and weighed down. The confusion broils away in my stomach as I try to fight my way out from this heavy numbness. I decide to do a meditation that I hope will be calming, and perhaps help me sit with these two contradictory feelings - one dull, the other querulous and anxious.
 

I imagine the Dalai Lama standing in front of me.  I begin to name whatever I'm feeling, thinking or sensing. For every label I give, the Dalai Lama responds - ‘I’m sorry for your suffering.'

'Heaviness in my leg'
'I'm sorry for your suffering.'
'Sadness...leaden sadness'
 'I'm sorry for your suffering.'
'Annoyance...tinnitus in my ear is annoying me'
'I'm sorry for your suffering.

A few minutes into the meditation, the critical voice in my head rises up.  As soon as the Dalai Lama says, 'I'm sorry for your suffering’, a judging response pops up in my mind. I'm finding it hard to sit with the judgements without becoming anxious, so I pull my laptop over and start writing whatever the voices say in response to the Dalai Lama's kindness. Here's what I wrote:

'I'm sorry for your suffering'
get over it
'I'm sorry for your suffering'
you have to do it on your own
'I'm sorry for your suffering'
there's no help here
'I'm sorry for your suffering'
don't be pathetic, it's all downhill for you
'I'm sorry for your suffering'
other people have a harder life that you, don't feel sorry for yourself
'I'm sorry for your suffering'
this isn't real, you aren't real, this suffering isn't real
'I'm sorry for your suffering'
kindness is rubbish, it isn't real, don't be a wuss ( Aussie slang for 'wimp' LOL! )
'I'm sorry for your suffering'
you deserve this suffering, there's no way out

After the first five minutes (listed above), the kindness of the Dalai Lama starts to sink in, and my voices change in tone:

'I'm sorry for your suffering'
oh, someone is listening to me, that feels good
'I'm sorry for your suffering'
it's not my fault, i don't have to prove anything
'I'm sorry for your suffering'
i thought it was all my fault, could this really not be my fault?  Is that possible?
'I'm sorry for your suffering'
Could it be that this suffering is real?, Could I be real?

And, after fifteen minutes or so, that's where the meditation ended.  Because I'd written my thoughts down I thought I’d make them into this post. 
   
I don't think I'm so unusual in having these critical voices in my head; not everyone's sings exactly the same songs as mine, but no doubt most people have a top 10 selection that's on fairly high rotation. One of the things I find most extraordinary is that these thoughts are all sitting there. They're not hidden beneath ten years of psychotherapy, or a three-month meditation retreat.  All I have to do to push them into action is to say something that provokes them - ‘I’m sorry for your suffering.'
   
These thoughts are like looking at a forest of trees, and not being able to see the forest for the trees. I can't see them in my everyday life - because they're everywhere. They are the foundation of my belief system; the rock out of which my reality is carved.   That's what makes them so pernicious and powerful.
   
For now, it just helps to have more awareness of these thoughts - to let them dance their dance, and sing their song. And, in response, to say:
   
'I'm sorry for your suffering...I'm sorry for your suffering...'