"In this, there is that" Part II

Almost a year ago now I was introduced to this phrase “In this, there is that.” It was a line written in a book called One Buddha is Not Enough, and it has really impacted me in a profound way. It has been one of those experiences where for most of my life I didn’t notice something much at all, and now I see it everywhere. 

It is like after buying my metallic shade Rav 4 Toyota, I now see this particular SUV on nearly every drive I take. Or when I was first introduced to the Bowenian concept of interpersonal Triangulation in graduate school, I suddenly saw triangles in all my relationships. It’s like that.  And now, “In this, there is that” has become a type of mantra for me, which I truly do notice all the time, including, as with most things, in nature.

The first observation of this mantra came with the ‘ol acorn and the oak tree.  Do you know this one? I have always been drawn to this metaphor from nature which is of course the idea that within every small acorn seed is the possibility of a large oak tree. This metaphor has been used in literature for the imagery of how a character can develop into their full true self. I’ve also seen it used in Western Buddhist writing to depict the belief that all human beings have a Buddha nature within just waiting to be woken up to.  Just the other day though, the acorn to oak metaphor showed up in my life in the form of my friend.

I have a dear friend, who is also my son’s godmother, and she has recently transformed from acorn to oak because she saw a small seed of an idea all the way through to fruition.  It started well over a year ago when my friend had a fresh idea for a partnership between her non-profit organization and a large cooperate organization of the likes of which had not been tried before. And just yesterday the partnership was solidified in the form of a contractual agreement. I felt so proud of her, and who knows, what I’m calling an oak tree may just be the initial sapling for something larger. You just never know.

Sometimes though, nature has taught me the lesson “in this, there is that,” through pain and discomfort.  For example, two nights ago a terrible, hot, July thunderstorm swept through New England with high winds that left damage of tree limbs down and flooding. However, within minutes of the storm ending, I looked up to the sky to see a magnificent double rainbow shining down.

I think this dialectic can be more challenging than the acorn to oak because it encompasses the paradoxical reality that pain could be in the same box as beauty.  For those of us control freaks who like to engage our black and white thinking patterns in compulsive compartmentalizing behavior, this is a tough one to swallow because we don’t want to put the ugly and horrific sides of humanity in the same box as our highest prized virtue.

For instance, we don’t want to keep a masterpiece of art like the song “Strange Fruit” by jazz singer and songwriter Billie Holiday eternally in the same box as racial lynching.  Or to have Psychiatrist Victor Frankel’s historic book and corresponding psychotherapy Man’s Search for Meaning permanently alongside the Holocaust and Concentration Camps. Or more personally, to have the post-partum depression I experienced 6 years ago always associated with the spiritual awakening that immediately followed, and the alcoholic in my life being forever tied to all that has been helpful to me in AL-ANON.

It kind of kills me a little bit that to look at something awe inspiring, I have to be reminded of something awful, and I don’t think I’m alone here. that in life.  I’d much rather look at what is beautiful and avoid all of the ugly.  The problem is, to do that is to not acknowledge the confusing contradictory reality that some of the beauty in this earthly life is not only tied to the ugly, but born of the ugly. “In this, there is that.”

Please do not misunderstand me, I am in agreement with Unitarian Universalist author and minister Kate Braestrup, who much more eloquently wrote about this same topic in her book Here if You Need Me, that to acknowledge the dynamic relationship between pain and beauty is not the same as the trite saying: “everything happens for a reason.”  I, like Ms. Braestrup, do not believe that.

In her book she described how she received unexpected abundant love from her community following the loss of her first husband, who was the father of her 4 children, in a tragic car accident.  However, to recognize that there is a potential underbelly of grace during painful circumstances is not the same thing as approving of the tragedy with a knowing nod toward fate or destiny.

Terrible events do not become un-terrible just because the human soul and psyche has an awesome ability to transcend and transform- just because, for some, a phoenix does rise from the ashes. The ashes still remain.

This is why it is imperative to be mindful of how we talk about these dualities so as not to invalidate the real pain of ourselves and other.  So that when we talk about the emotional and physical pain that we experience in life, we are not suggesting approval in any way.  We are however, allowing for recognition of the fact that pain, like summer thunder storms, are sometimes, not one-sided (or maybe even two, or three-sided). “In this, there is that.”

Easier said than done, right? Where I continue to struggle to hold this dialectic in my own life is with my children. Sure it’s easy to think of the acorn to oak metaphor with all of my oh-so-important seeds of wisdom that I am implanting in them so that they can mature into confident and loving members of society.  But what about the thunderstorms to rainbows? Practicing acceptance of the pain my son and daughter will endure, while protecting them against it, is one of the toughest aspects of parenthood. And I gotta say, as far as my children are concerned, the fact that a few rainbows will follow some of this pain is just not a consolation. 

This is admittedly a blind-spot of mine, and by no means the only one. So for this, and other areas of life where I resist the natural laws of the universe as it concerns all that is precious to me, I will continue to chant my mantra: “In this, there is that.”

And when I need to, I will also turn to poetry- the natural language of the soul.

On Children
by  Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Where do you see examples of this duality in nature or your own life?