There is a Tibetan story about an earnest young man seeking enlightenment. (Earnest people must think this quite unfair--since they play a central role in most parables and stories about enlightenment.)
A famous sage passes through the man's village. The man asks the sage to teach him the art of meditation. The sage agrees. He tells the man, "Withdraw from the world. Mediate every day in the specific way I will teach you. Do not waver and you will attain enlightenment."
The earnest man follows the sage's instructions to the letter. Time passes--and no enlightenment. Two years, five, ten, twenty pass.
It happens that the sage once again passes through the man's village. The man seeks him out, grumbling that despite his best intentions and devotion and diligent efforts, he does not achieve enlightenment. "Why?"
The sage asks, "What type of meditation did I teach you?"
The man tells him.
The sage says, "Oh, what a terrible mistake I made! That is not the right meditation for you. You should have done another kind altogether. Too bad, for now it is too late."
Disconsolate, the man returns to his cave. Staking his life on the sage's instructions, and now believing he is without hope, the man abandons all his wishes and efforts and need to control his road to enlightenment. He does not know what to do. So, he does what knows best: he begins meditating. And in a short while, much to his astonishment, his confusion begins to dissolve, and his inner world comes to life. A weight falls away and he feels lighter, and regenerated. When he walks out of the cave, the sky is bluer, the snow capped mountains whiter, and the world around him more vivid.
There is no doubt that all too often, our efforts--to succeed or achieve or attain--get in the way of our living. It brings to mind my favorite Robert Capon quote, "We live life like ill-taught piano students. So inculcated with the flub that will get us in dutch, we don't hear the music, we only play the right notes."
I understand. I was weaned on a spirituality that predicated itself on artifice. In other words, the importance is placed upon appearance, rather that just being. (It was vital to "look spiritual." Which begs the question, "What do spiritual people look like?" As a boy, I always thought the "spiritual people" looked as if some part of their clothing was a size too small.)
What is it we are holding on to--so rigid, so firm, white-knuckled in our determination?
At some point, we've got to breathe.
Just breathe.
Without realizing it (and after the sage's disheartening news), the man in the story "let go."
He let go of the need to see life as a problem to be solved.
He let go of the need to have the correct answers (or experiences) for his "enlightenment."
He let go of the need to see his spiritual life in terms of a formula.
He let go of the restraints that come from public opinion.
Abandon your masterpiece, sink into the real masterpiece.
Leonard Cohen
Without realizing it, he took Leonard Cohen's advice. He abandoned his "masterpiece"--the perception of what he needed to accomplish, or how he needed to appear, or what he needed to feel--in order to allow himself to sink down into this life, this moment, even with all of its uncertainty and insecurity.
For the first many years, meditation or prayer was a requirement or compulsion. In his emptiness, meditation and prayer was an offering of thanks, freely given, and without constraint. True spiritual enlightenment, it seems, happens when you are not trying to impress anyone, or score any points with heavenly bookkeepers.
It sounds easy doesn't it? But here's the deal: My best intentions to play the right notes can fabricate an armor that keeps me from the vividness of life--whether it be to pray or meditate or notice or give or mourn or dance or play or grieve or laugh or love... or just to walk.
This week on our island--outside Engel's gas station--a portable marquee with ill-spaced black letters read, "Elderly man is safe Listen to 1650 am."
The entire island knew its significance. A week ago, islander Andy Jovanovich thought it strange when he saw an elderly man in red pajamas walking in a heavy rain late at night, but thought, "This is Vashon. People do a lot of weird stuff."
In the days that followed, our island was gripped by the drama of Jack Randles, an 83-year-old Vashon resident with Alzheimer's disease who walked away from the home he shares with his son and vanished--for nearly three full days--until he turned up in a $1 million waterfront home two miles away, asleep in one of the beds.
A former Marine, Randles spent the last quarter of his working life at Boeing, moving to the island to help his son Marty build a home. An avid walker for the years he lived on the island, Randles could be seen savoring the day along one of Vashon's back roads.
Ironically, Marty was gearing up to help his father with the next difficult transition--moving into a full-time specialized care unit--when he disappeared. Marty, a Metro bus driver, couldn't help but wonder if his father's remarkable journey was the last hurrah of a man who had lived life fully. "I'm sure he sensed it," Marty said.
Randles' disappearance triggered a valiant search effort, with dozens of islanders forming search parties.
That he survived made Jovanovich feel nothing but awe for the elderly man. "What a resilient guy," he said. "He may have Alzheimer's. But he knows he wants to live."
