Two Philosophies

Life is pain. Pain don't hurt.

These two philosophies have been my north stars these past few years.

Two fictional men gifted them to me. The first from the Dread Pirate Roberts in The Princess Bride, when he says, "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something." The other a response from Jack Dalton from Road House, when asked if he enjoys pain. What can I say? I am a child of the eighties.

Eastern traditions say as much, particularly Buddhism. In Buddha's first sermon, he tells the five monks (bhikkhus) that life is pain:

Now this, bhikkhus, is the noble truth of suffering: birth is suffering, aging is suffering, illness is suffering, death is suffering; union with what is displeasing is suffering; separation from what is pleasing is suffering; not to get what one wants is suffering.

Our suffering arises from wanting things to be other than they are. Buddhism calls this craving. We chase after what feels good and push away what feels bad. We are wanting machines, us silly, little humans. Both Buddha and Dalton are saying that it doesn't have to be that way. If we see things clearly, that craving is the source of our suffering or of identifying incorrectly what is before us. Pain don't hurt is a recognition that giving labels to our experience changes that experience. We say pain hurts but if you get deep enough, explore the actual sensations, the hold and fear of pain dissipates. In meditation, I've been taught that if something is causing discomfort, it means I'm not paying close enough attention. I'm still living life on the surface.

These two philosophies have always been a part of my thinking as an adult. The past few years have branded these words into my flesh. As we get older, with more experiences in our history, we enjoy what that history gifts us. We can see the patterns of ourselves in our history. We can try new things, new approaches. As I get closer to fifty, the grasping and clinging and craving for things to be other than they are slough off me like dried clay from a potter's hands. I still have desires; I am human, of course. But they are less clingy, less gravitational pull, less needy. Openness to what is and to who people are is what I've come to. Everything has become another data point, another piece of information, with which to do something—or nothing—with. Remaining fully open is the challenge now, though it is easier than it has ever been. How to find equanimity in a world such as ours?

Sarah McLachlan has been a musical backbone to my life since moving to Canada in 1996 and spending my entire freshman year listening to Fumbling Towards Ecstasy (how many broken hearts did Sarah get me through in the years that have followed?). When talking about her latest release, Better Broken, McLachlan seems to have come to the same conclusion as me: "‘Life is hard … what it takes to heal and find ways to stay open and curious is a theme for a lot of [Better Broken]’" (Ridenour).

See also: Better Broken
See also: Meditation creates the capacity to open our lives