The old limping man in the Cubs hat was gone for days. It was starting to worry me. I used to see him at the same time around the same place (give or take twenty yards) every day. But lately nothing. And I found myself no longer dreading his hellos. I found myself becoming eager to see him. I had, after all, made him into a character, one who features prominantly in the story of my morning routine, and his absence was negatively impacting my daily narrative.
And then this morning I saw him. He didn't look as cheerful as usual. I wondered if today had been the first day he could walk after a long illness. Had he just been released from the hospital? Or was this the first time in a couple of weeks that he'd been able to get his tired body out of bed at the usual hour?
Anyway, I saw him. And I was happy. And as we passed, another milestone. "Hi. How are you?" he asked. And this time I responded directly and cheerfuly. "I'm doing well, thanks. How are you?" "Good", I heard him say behind me.
It occured to me as we passed that this time, he didn't push our relationship to the next level the way he had previously. He didn't do it because of who he is, but because of whom he is to me.
I should explain that: He was the one in a funk. I was the one looking eagerly at him when he raised his gaze to me. He saw me looking at him with the regard that strangers don't have as they pass, and it awoke him. It asked him to be friendly. And then the greeting, the question...And I liked it, even needed it.
Our relationship has taken a turn, his and mine. The power dynamic shifted today, and it shifted because I made him into an emblem of midwestern politeness, a character who symbolized a Buddhist-like appreciation for the moment; and when he hobbled along, dour-faced and silent, I had to beg him with my eyes to fulfill his role.
Now the last thing I'm trying to describe is some kind of power I think I have over the universe. Quite the contrary. We're all story-tellers. Part of the function of our left brain is to create a narrative thread in our lives (people with damage to this part of their brain can literaly turn their lives into fantasy stories) and we contextualize all of our experiences via this thread.
There's a great Korean Zen Master living in the United States who teaches about the stages of enlightenment. I'm not enlightened, so I'm sure I'll do a terrible job explaing my own personal understanding of these stages but here I go: The first one is an attachment to name and form. People at this stage only understand the nature of reality as it is presented to them. A chair is a chair. A box is a box. The next stage is attachment to emptiness. These folks understand that form is emptiness. There is no chair. There is no box. Life is inherently meaningless. People in this stage can get really depressed with what is commonly called Zen sickness. The next stage is an attachment to freedom. People in this stage realize that if life is meaningless, they can then do whatever they want with it. These folks can be too happy in a way. They are still detached from the world of the living because they base their new freedoms on the notion that their life is nothing. The final phase has no real name or is sometimes called "just like this". The folks who reach this stage make a full circle. Again, a chair is a chair. A box is a box. They realize that although form is emptiness, emptiness is also form. Although life is meaningless, although we can turn it into anything we want, the secret of life is to live it. Why do we need to construct a fantasy? Why do we need to turn our noses up at baseball? Life just is as it is. What's for dinner?
All of us are enlightened. Within each of us is every stage that I described. A greeting from a stranger is greeting. A greeting from a stranger is meaningless. A greeting from a stranger is everything. A greeting is just a greeting. Hello.
I can tell you that I'm from New England and that means that I'm rude. I can tell you that I am anxious when I meet this limping man every morning because of how friendly he is, and I wouldn't be lying. But the world I create on this blog, while it may be true, is fixed in name and form and is therefore irrelevant the moment I have written it. It is therefore meaningless. It is therefore everything. It is therefore just a blog.
I am from New England, therfore I am rude. I am rude one day, friendly the next, therefore my nature is changeable and my true self is nothing. If I am nothing, I can be anything I want. I am friendly! I am from New England. My name is Andy. Hello. How are you?
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