Soul Packaging
Sometimes I am asked, “How long have you been a Buddhist?” I will often reply, “Oh, I am not a Buddhist. However, I do practice a form of Buddhist meditation.”
I try taking to heart the venerable Thich Nhat Hanh’s advice to “be a Buddha not a Buddhist.” Frankly, I am not very comfortable affixing labels to myself. I am always that person at workshops and conferences that balks at writing my name in Sharpie on one of those, ‘Hello My Name Is’ stickers. Except that isn’t exactly a true statement, is it?
If I label myself a Buddhist exactly what type of a Buddhist am I? Zen, Shin, Tibetan…what am I to say about my Iyengar yoga practice, which I am also committed to or my love for the wisdom of Rumi? I love the Gospels of Mark and John and the Epistle of James. What about them? In fact I have come to believe that James is a mini spiritual tradition in and of itself. Perhaps, I am a Jamesian?
We become too attached to labels. If I label myself a Buddhist not only do I show my ignorance of Buddhism, in general (which is great to begin with) but, I close myself off to the possibilities available in other “isms” and traditions.
In the west many of us are running from the traditions of our time and place, which for a lot of us is some form of Christianity, and running toward the exotic philosophies of the east. But, in so doing we forego the sage wisdom of our elders.
Thomas Merton, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin and C.S. Lewis have much to offer us as we journey through our post modern world. So does Dietrich Bonhoeffer and Reinhold Niebuhr. I am also kind of partial to the scholar Elaine Pagels and theologian Matthew Fox. The Bishop Shelby Spong is another voice that we may not wish to ignore.
Because we are so close to Christianity we see its glaring faults of culture, practice and politics. We fail to see that the traditions of the east are besotted with the same problems. We assume the philosophical superiority of traditions foreign to us because we don’t see them at a cultural level. Reading a dialogue of the late Krishnamurti may help us gain some perspective here.
Be a Christ not a Christian.
Be a Buddha not a Buddhist
If you encounter the Risen Christ on the road to Emmaus crucify him.
If meet the Buddha along the path kill him.
We are much too enchanted by our labels. We mistake them for our true identity, but often we are simply showing the world our hubris. Even this post of mine is more hubris then humility. Once I was on a meditation retreat and an older woman whom had befriended me started sharing her “spiritual autobiography” with me as we walked to the dining hall for dinner.
“I was raised a Swedenborgian,” she announced to me with a gleam of pride in her eyes. There was also something of a challenge to me in her voice. I was a young man who took great pride in studying philosophy in college.
Speaking of arrogance…
She was stunned that not only had I heard of Emanuel Swedonborg I had read his seminal book Heaven and Hell among other works. I took great pride in showing off my knowledge, which was book smarts and theory. There was no practice and thus no transformation.
Years later I would finally see that I had preferred my label of “philosophy student” over being present in the moment with a fellow sojourner on the path of life. As a lover of books and knowledge it is often a painful lesson that the great jewel of dharma or of the gospels and the Koran is not knowledge of some arcane and erudite discipline. It’s in the present moment. Life not books.
To completely and totally misappropriate the words of Thomas Jefferson, we need to cull the diamonds from the dung heap. The diamonds are found in giving up labels (to the best of our abilities) and living life. Chogyam Trungpa used the metaphor of dung in the field of dharma to describe this. Manure is a foul thing yet it fertilizes the soil and wonderful things grow. The lotus flower blooms in the muddy and brackish water. Our spirits come wrapped in labels. We need to remove this bit of hermetically sealed soul packaging and expose what is underneath to the fresh air.
