Why does feeling the sun on our face, or even seeing it out the window, create a sense of happiness?
Of course, if there’s been a drought or we’re allergic to the sun or worried about skin cancer, that spoils the fun. But a sunny day? We use that as an expression of being happy; or a sunny disposition as being positive, uplifting. Or we see the sun and feel that, as we look up, for now at least, we can enjoy a moment. We can allow ourselves a respite before the clouds move in.
And sometimes, we can find a sun living in ourselves. Or we might find a sense of quiet presence or get absorbed in something we love. Maybe it’s writing a story or meditating. Or we’re practicing a martial arts kata, dancing, listening to music, or walking next to a waterfall, and we’re gone. There’s nothing left of us but the creating, the kata, the dance, the music, the waterfall. It’s so amazing that we can feel most ourselves when, as the 13th century Japanese Zen teacher Dogen Zenji put it, we forget ourselves in action.
Contemporary Zen teacher, environmental activist, and author David Loy put it very clearly for me in a recent talk. When we do something not as a means to something else, or to get somewhere else; when we do an activity for it-self, not for what prize we may get from doing it, we can be transformed. We cease to be self-conscious and become more deeply conscious. We become sun conscious, activity conscious; we become more aware, more mindful of how one action, emotion, sensation, or thought flows into the next and forms our quality-of-life experience, so we can adjust, deepen that experience.
In his talk, David Loy illustrated his point with the explanation of Karma yoga, the yoga of action, from the Hindu spiritual classic, the Bhagavad Gita. When we do something without being attached to the results, but aware of the rightness of what we do, we are more likely to be transformed positively by the action.
When we work for social justice, for example, we do the best we can, being as strategic as we can. We want to create better conditions in the world and make a difference; but our personal achievement is the action itself that we take. No matter what we do, we are most likely to have good results if we focus on doing the best we can, now, and not on worrying about the future or how far away it is.
One passage in the Gita says:
“You have a right to your actions.
But never to your actions’ fruits.
Act for the action’s sake.”
I remember, when I was teaching secondary school and students read this passage in the Gita, they at first disagreed with it, or disliked to it. They asked, “Why not be concerned with the fruits of our actions? When we do something well, don’t we deserve praise? Don’t we want to foster a concern with the fruits, or at least the ethical consequences of our actions on the world?”
What is meant by “the fruits”? Whose “fruits” are they? Why act at all? Why fight for equity or against a war or racism, for example? Are our actions worthy only if we’re successful? If we center only on whether we are patted on the back or make the headlines or even stop the war, what happens when the task goes on longer than we thought? What happens when we face those who disagree with us? Isn’t simply doing what’s right or what’s compassionate or beautiful, or even what teaches us something important or gets us moving in the morning, enough of a motivation?
When we focus on the results, prizes, or uses of an action, we separate the action itself from a moment of life. It’s like when we’re put on hold on a phone call or are waiting to see a doctor or to get food, we’re focused on an anticipated future and the present becomes obscured and burdensome.
And by separating from the action like this, we can get complacent or stuck. We worry about how we look to others and lose touch with ourselves. We can get afraid of stepping out of our normal lives. And then our lives shrink into smaller and smaller envelopes that someday the universe will mail away into oblivion. Or we feel we don’t deserve what lies beyond the envelope we’ve addressed as ourselves; we feel we don’t deserve to be happy, and don’t deserve good will.
Instead, why not focus on the action itself; on the beauty, the compassion, creativity, insight and aliveness of acting itself.
When I read Welsh poet Dylan Thomas’ famous poem, Do not go gentle into that good night, but Rage, rage, against the dying of the light, I felt a great energy to live. It was a very different sort of energy than “forgetting ourselves,” but beautiful in its own way. So rebellious and defiant. Certainly, it was the opposite of letting our lives get smaller and smaller as we age; the opposite of shrinking ourselves gradually until nothing is left of us. Instead, we can allow ourselves to feel the urge to love and laugh so deeply we shatter the habit of judging and hurting. We can breathe deeply every moment until the time comes when we can’t breathe at all.
However, if we focus not on raging against death but on living our lives with awareness ⎼ not only on what’s coming but on the life and death in what’s here now, then the poem and the Buddha and the yogi might go together. Then we can appreciate both the sun and the clouds. Then maybe we can go as one united being into that beautiful day and that good night.
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This Post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
