There's a story about a professor who visited a monk. The monk started pouring the professor a cup of tea, and he just kept pouring and pouring, tea spilling everywhere. The guest flipped out, to which the monk explained that his mind was like the teacup: too filled with his own ideas to let anything new in.
I've emptied my teacup, and went back to the place we all once knew, when we were children: unscathed, open willing, malleable, curious. Shoshin, a Japanese martial arts word, describes the state of consciousness that always remains fresh. It is a warrior's goal to live every moment with a clean-slated beginner's mind… Even after you find out, that, when he mentioned he was "duplicitous," what he meant to say was that he had a secret life involving a Russian the night before, three Brazilians a month ago, and a couple of female co-workers along the way. Even after the promotion you worked eighty hours a week for months to earn was given to the boss's niece, who came in one day and proceeded to take over your office and then spend two leisurely hours on the phone talking about where to get the best "mani." Ever after the person you thought you knew so well "got to know" the barrista at what is now your "former" favorite Starbucks. Even after all forms of catastrophic hurt – after all of the "they'd nevers" are replaced by the "they sure dids!" – we have the choice to begin again, to act as if the skid marks burning on the heart aren't really impeding every decision, infusing every choice with a brand new sense of "oh, hell no!"
The struggle for shoshin is like that of a child, once totally open to the world, who reached for the warm light of a flame only to feel the scorch on her skin. She never wants to touch again. How can you remain open and get to know that new, potentially "special someone" when you are acutely aware of the possibility of everything ending in a third-degree burn?? In the past, I have employed great skill in avoiding personal availability to burns. I've traveled, worked eighty-hour weeks and cushioned myself with busy schedules – leaving no room for "that." It's comfortable. It's safe. It protects and guards the heart. But there is a big difference between being tough and being courageous. It only takes a protective guarding to be tough, but it takes fearless courage to crack open. And it takes a warrior to remain open.
To obtain this state of shoshin you must first understand a universal fact about humans: unless someone is completely wacko, a person's top priority is not to hurt others on purpose. The ways in which others have ended up hurting me usually speak more about their limitations, our timing, the lessons I've learned – and the lessons they needed to learn… But it is not proof that the masses are out to make sure I am hurt by a thousand voodoo pins of pain. Hurt happens; it's the way we are challenged as humans to shake up and grow. Forgive the past. Forgive the humanity in others. Put it to rest. Let it go. Empty your cup.
After forgiving all of the firestarters, you must then learn to use the past, as opposed to wading around in it. You don't have to think of memories as "bad" experiences or wasted time. What matters is that you are circling closer and closer toward your truth through each debacle. That is the nature of life; all of us spinning around, running into dozens of others, taking nicks and chips off each other. We chip away until what is left is a beautiful sculpture, shaped by life, shaped by our lessons. The task of the warrior is to choose opening relentlessly; to allow others in and to chip away at you, teach you. In this way, all experiences have a home as our instructors. Use the past as fuel for wisdom. Use it to learn that you don't need to tumble down hills with every Jack and Jill. Get intuitively selective, make wise choices about who is worth the fall and, once you have - dive like you're never been bludgeoned before!
Until next time...
