Good or Bad?
There's a story that's important to me- I first came across it in Steve Hagen's 'Buddhism Plain and Simple'.
The situation we always live in is like that of the wise Chinese farmer whose horse ran off. When his neighbor came to console him the farmer said, "Who knows what's good or bad?"
When his horse returned the next day with a herd of horses following her, the foolish neighbor came to congratulate him on his good fortune.
"Who knows what's good or bad?" said the farmer.
Then, when the farmer's son broke his leg trying to ride one of the new horses, the foolish neighbor came to console him again.
"Who knows what's good or bad?" said the farmer.
When the army passed through, conscripting men for war, they passed over the farmer's son because of his broken leg. When the foolish man came to congratulate the farmer that his son would be spared, again the farmer said, "Who knows what's good or bad?"
When do we expect the story to end?
As soon as I decide something is 'bad' I start denying anything good that can come out of it. Likewise when I decide something is 'good' I feel betrayed when it ends up not being as I expect.
A couple years ago I was diagnosed with cancer. Several of the treatments I was placed on had a potential side effect of causing heart damage, so I was given periodic tests to check my heart function. Midway through my treatment, after one such medicine (Adriamiacin) and during another (Herceptin) I was given one of these tests and a CT scan. The heart scan came back with a significant decrease in heart function and the CT came back with a sizeable spot in my lung.
Up until this point I'd felt pretty confident that everything was going to be OK, that I'd go through all this uncomfortable and unpleasant stuff and everything would go back to 'normal'. As you would expect, these test results shook that confidence. Worse, there was nothing to do but continue treatment and wait to do more tests in a few more months. Those turned into a few months of considering my life and trying to come to terms with the possible ending of it. I became very aware that even if the cancer didn't get me, and even if the heart damage from the treatment didn't get me I didn't know how long I had.
I started considering all of the things I had experienced in my life- being dropped out of helicopters, standing on top of the mast of a sailing ship, rafting down the Colorado river, playing with an octopus in Puget Sound, marriage, divorce, romance, heartbreak, deserted beaches in the Pacific and rocky shores in Alaska. I realized what an amazing life I have had, and I began to feel truly grateful. I started asking myself what experiences I had been procrastinating to 'someday' and asking which of those I could do now.
I'd always wanted to ride a motorcycle, but had talked myself out of it. I'd even gone so far at one point to take the MSF class, but I had refused to trust myself and had failed it. With these test results in hand the risk of riding a motorcycle seemed trivial, and the reward maximal. So I bought one.
If you have never ridden a motorcycle it's a difficult experience to describe. It's primal and visceral, freeing and terrifying. You don't drive a motorcycle like you drive a car: you seem to meld with it, become one with it. It's such a personal experience. There's a tremendous amount of technique and learning to do to become proficient, but at the core it becomes an emotional exercise. If you want to turn you turn, effortless and graceful. If you don't want to turn you can't, no matter how hard you try. You have to sit with your terror, relax in your fear, be gentle with yourself and part of your surroundings. Many people have described motorcycling as a 'poor man's zen', and I don't think that they are far off- it requires being present and aware of both your environment and what's going on inside of you.
Cancer is something that's hard not to label as 'bad'. But my cancer- well, I've got mixed feelings. Eventually I got new test results that showed that the spot in my lung was gone, perhaps some scar tissue left from the radiation treatment and reabsorbed by my body. The heart function came back, although it wasn't 'supposed' to. The treatment was unpleasant, uncomfortable, difficult, and terrifying. But if I wouldn't have had it, I wouldn't have gotten a chance to look at death and really understand that it's part of life- part of what makes it so precious and so beautiful. I wouldn't have gotten to truly understand what a remarkable life I've already lived. And I might have continued to keep putting off riding a motorcycle, something that has brought a tremendous joy to my life.
Bad? No, I can't say it was. I can't say it was good, either. It was part of my life, and I have to say that as unpleasant as it was, I'm grateful for it.
The situation we always live in is like that of the wise Chinese farmer whose horse ran off. When his neighbor came to console him the farmer said, "Who knows what's good or bad?"
When his horse returned the next day with a herd of horses following her, the foolish neighbor came to congratulate him on his good fortune.
"Who knows what's good or bad?" said the farmer.
Then, when the farmer's son broke his leg trying to ride one of the new horses, the foolish neighbor came to console him again.
"Who knows what's good or bad?" said the farmer.
When the army passed through, conscripting men for war, they passed over the farmer's son because of his broken leg. When the foolish man came to congratulate the farmer that his son would be spared, again the farmer said, "Who knows what's good or bad?"
When do we expect the story to end?
As soon as I decide something is 'bad' I start denying anything good that can come out of it. Likewise when I decide something is 'good' I feel betrayed when it ends up not being as I expect.
A couple years ago I was diagnosed with cancer. Several of the treatments I was placed on had a potential side effect of causing heart damage, so I was given periodic tests to check my heart function. Midway through my treatment, after one such medicine (Adriamiacin) and during another (Herceptin) I was given one of these tests and a CT scan. The heart scan came back with a significant decrease in heart function and the CT came back with a sizeable spot in my lung.
Up until this point I'd felt pretty confident that everything was going to be OK, that I'd go through all this uncomfortable and unpleasant stuff and everything would go back to 'normal'. As you would expect, these test results shook that confidence. Worse, there was nothing to do but continue treatment and wait to do more tests in a few more months. Those turned into a few months of considering my life and trying to come to terms with the possible ending of it. I became very aware that even if the cancer didn't get me, and even if the heart damage from the treatment didn't get me I didn't know how long I had.
I started considering all of the things I had experienced in my life- being dropped out of helicopters, standing on top of the mast of a sailing ship, rafting down the Colorado river, playing with an octopus in Puget Sound, marriage, divorce, romance, heartbreak, deserted beaches in the Pacific and rocky shores in Alaska. I realized what an amazing life I have had, and I began to feel truly grateful. I started asking myself what experiences I had been procrastinating to 'someday' and asking which of those I could do now.
I'd always wanted to ride a motorcycle, but had talked myself out of it. I'd even gone so far at one point to take the MSF class, but I had refused to trust myself and had failed it. With these test results in hand the risk of riding a motorcycle seemed trivial, and the reward maximal. So I bought one.
If you have never ridden a motorcycle it's a difficult experience to describe. It's primal and visceral, freeing and terrifying. You don't drive a motorcycle like you drive a car: you seem to meld with it, become one with it. It's such a personal experience. There's a tremendous amount of technique and learning to do to become proficient, but at the core it becomes an emotional exercise. If you want to turn you turn, effortless and graceful. If you don't want to turn you can't, no matter how hard you try. You have to sit with your terror, relax in your fear, be gentle with yourself and part of your surroundings. Many people have described motorcycling as a 'poor man's zen', and I don't think that they are far off- it requires being present and aware of both your environment and what's going on inside of you.
Cancer is something that's hard not to label as 'bad'. But my cancer- well, I've got mixed feelings. Eventually I got new test results that showed that the spot in my lung was gone, perhaps some scar tissue left from the radiation treatment and reabsorbed by my body. The heart function came back, although it wasn't 'supposed' to. The treatment was unpleasant, uncomfortable, difficult, and terrifying. But if I wouldn't have had it, I wouldn't have gotten a chance to look at death and really understand that it's part of life- part of what makes it so precious and so beautiful. I wouldn't have gotten to truly understand what a remarkable life I've already lived. And I might have continued to keep putting off riding a motorcycle, something that has brought a tremendous joy to my life.
Bad? No, I can't say it was. I can't say it was good, either. It was part of my life, and I have to say that as unpleasant as it was, I'm grateful for it.