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He

knew

there

would

be

only

a

meager

percentage

of

people

who

would

be

served

by

(

or

interested

in

)

his

teachings

.

Most

of

humanity

,

he

said

,

have

eyes

that

are

so

caked

shut

with

the

dust

of

deception

they

will

never

see

the

truth

,

no

matter

who

tries

to

help

them

.

A

few

others

(

like

Sean

’

s

Da

,

perhaps

)

are

so

naturally

clear

-

eyed

and

calm

already

that

they

need

no

instruction

or

assistance

whatsoever

.

But

then

there

are

those

whose

eyes

are

just

slightly

caked

with

dust

,

and

who

might

,

with

the

help

of

the

right

master

,

be

taught

to

see

more

clearly

someday

.

The

Buddha

decided

he

would

become

a

teacher

for

the

benefit

of

that

minority

-

"

for

those

of

little

dust

.

"

I

dearly

hope

that

I

am

one

of

these

mid

-

level

dust

-

caked

people

,

but

I

don

’

t

know

.

I

only

know

that

I

have

been

driven

to

find

inner

peace

with

methods

that

might

seem

a

bit

drastic

for

the

general

populace

.

(

For

instance

,

when

I

told

one

friend

back

in

New

York

City

that

I

was

going

to

India

to

live

in

an

Ashram

and

search

for

divinity

,

he

sighed

and

said

,

"

Oh

,

there

’

s

a

part

of

me

that

so

wishes

I

wanted

to

do

that

…

but

I

really

have

no

desire

for

it

whatsoever

.

"

)

I

don

’

t

know

that

I

have

much

of

a

choice

,

though

.

I

have

searched

frantically

for

contentment

for

so

many

years

in

so

many

ways

,

and

all

these

acquisitions

and

accomplishments

-

they

run

you

down

in

the

end

.

Life

,

if

you

keep

chasing

it

so

hard

,

will

drive

you

to

death

.

Time

-

when

pursued

like

a

bandit

-

will

behave

like

one

;

always

remaining

one

county

or

one

room

ahead

of

you

,

changing

its

name

and

hair

color

to

elude

you

,

slipping

out

the

back

door

of

the

motel

just

as

you

’

re

banging

through

the

lobby

with

your

newest

search

warrant

,

leaving

only

a

burning

cigarette

in

the

ashtray

to

taunt

you

.

At

some

point

you

have

to

stop

because

it

won

’

t

.

You

have

to

admit

that

you

can

’

t

catch

it

.

That

you

’

re

not

supposed

to

catch

it

.

At

some

point

,

as

Richard

keeps

telling

me

,

you

gotta

let

go

and

sit

still

and

allow

contentment

to

come

to

you

.

Отключить рекламу

Letting

go

,

of

course

,

is

a

scary

enterprise

for

those

of

us

who

believe

that

the

world

revolves

only

because

it

has

a

handle

on

the

top

of

it

which

we

personally

turn

,

and

that

if

we

were

to

drop

this

handle

for

even

a

moment

,

well

-

that

would

be

the

end

of

the

universe

.

But

try

dropping

it

,

Groceries

.

This

is

the

message

I

’

m

getting

.

Sit

quietly

for

now

and

cease

your

relentless

participation

.

Watch

what

happens

.

The

birds

do

not

crash

dead

out

of

the

sky

in

mid

-

flight

,

after

all

.

The

trees

do

not

wither

and

die

,

the

rivers

do

not

run

red

with

blood

.

Life

continues

to

go

on

.

Even

the

Italian

post

office

will

keep

limping

along

,

doing

its

own

thing

without

you

-

why

are

you

so

sure

that

your

micromanagement

of

every

moment

in

this

whole

world

is

so

essential

?

Why

don

’

t

you

let

it

be

?

I

hear

this

argument

and

it

appeals

to

me

.

I

believe

in

it

,

intellectually

.

I

really

do

But

then

I

wonder

-

with

all

my

restless

yearning

,

with

all

my

hyped

-

up

fervor

and

with

this

stupidly

hungry

nature

of

mine

-

what

should

I

do

with

my

energy

,

instead

?

That

answer

arrives

,

too

:

Отключить рекламу

Look

for

God

,

suggests

my

Guru

.

Look

for

God

like

a

man

with

his

head

on

fire

looks

for

water

.

The

next

morning

in

meditation

,

all

my

caustic

old

hateful

thoughts

come

up

again

.

I

’

m

starting

to

think

of

them

as

irritating

telemarketers

,

always

calling

at

the

most

inopportune

moments

.

What

I

’

m

alarmed

to

find

in

meditation

is

that

my

mind

is

actually

not

that

interesting

a

place

,

after

all

.

In

actuality

I

really

only

think

about

a

few

things

,

and

I

think

about

them

constantly

.

I

believe

the

official

term

is

"

brooding

.

"

I

brood

about

my

divorce

,

and

all

the

pain

of

my

marriage

,

and

all

the

mistakes

I

made

,

and

all

the

mistakes

my

husband

made

,

and

then

(

and

there

’

s

no

return

from

this

dark

topic

)

I

start

brooding

about

David

…

Which

is

getting

embarrassing

,

to

be

quite

honest

.

I

mean

-

here

I

am

in

this

sacred

place

of

study

in

the

middle

of

India

,

and

all

I

can

think

about

is

my

ex

-

boyfriend

?

What

am

I

,

in

eighth

grade

?

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