Authentic Self in Buddhist Practice

Self Blessing

The bud
stands for all things,
even for those things that don’t flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;

This is part of Galway Kinnell's poem, "Saint Francis and the Sow." I always think of this poem when I think of loving-kindness, what I believe is the antidote to our individual and collective pain. Isn't this what we all want—to be told, and more importantly, to believe ourselves, that we are lovely and therefore lovable, worthy, blessed? Don't we all want to know that we are fundamentally okay, and to have that okayness blossom from inside, independent of others opinions and judgments?

In a story I love, a young peasant girl finds out she's pregnant, and scared that her parents will disown her, blurts out that the father is Master Hakuin, the renowned Zen teacher whose temple is nearby. Irate, the parents confront Hakuin, and before long, the entire village has heard the rumor and is up in arms about the disgraceful monk. In response to all the bedlam, Hakuin only says, "Is that so?" Nine months later, the parents return with the baby and promptly hand him over to Hakuin. "Here, your son!" they say before storming off. "Is that so?" Hakuin answers, placidly taking the baby in his hands. For a number of months, Hakuin takes care of the child, until finally the peasant girl can no longer live with herself. Reluctantly she goes to her parents and confesses that the father is really the fishmonger, a young man she's been in love with for some time. Appalled, the parents go back to the temple and apologize profusely to Hakuin, then shyly ask for the baby back. "Turns out you weren't the father after all," they say. Again, Hakuin's only response is, "Is that so?" He gives them the sleeping baby and quietly returns to his room, where he sits down at his desk and takes up reading where he'd left off.

In the face of praise, Is that so? In the face of condemnation, is that so? Impervious to the eight worldly winds of praise and blame, success and failure, pleasure and pain, fame and disrepute, the one who knows their loveliness is not swayed by others. They don't ignore them, but they don't get caught up in their views either. My teacher, Daido Roshi, spoke of this inner strength as self trust. I think of it as standing on our own two feet. Practice is the way that we reteach ourselves our loveliness.

The paradox of spiritual practice is that we must let go of ourselves in order to fully become ourselves. And although someone can help us see our loveliness, ultimately, it's something that we have to uncover for ourselves. This is why it's self-blessing, as Kinnell says.

Just as in the practice of the Four Immeasurables we always start by offering loving-kindness to ourselves, this is also true in our lives. Moment to moment, we reteach ourselves our loveliness, so that we won't hurt ourselves or others in our pain. Then, gradually, we come to see what was always there until, before we know it, we've done it—we've flowered again from within.

*Photo by Andrea Windolph