The Phoenix Centre

The Fringe Dweller's
Guide to the Universe

Universal Rules

click here for the full list of rules

Funny where my mind goes. I guess most of you know that I was, for 13 years, a Presbyterian Minister. I jokingly say that, back in 1996, I "gave the Church up for Lent," and never took it back. While this is so, my history is Christian, sprinkled with a good dose of Buddhism, mostly of the Zen strain. What I want to admit to J today is a love of Scripture. Not a blind obedience, but a great respect for. I spent decades pouring over the Older and Newer Testaments, and nothing has shaken my faith in the innate wisdom contained therein, once we get past what the Church has done to them. I'll work hard at leaving the diatribe alone.

The major faith groups are remarkably alike in their overall teachings. All faiths have a line similar to: "Do unto others as you would have others do unto you," for example. Also common is the idea of life (let me say, "the life of faith," and unpack that to mean a life with a purpose larger than the individual) as a journey that actually must begin.

Thus today's admonition:
the walk of a thousand miles begins with the first step.

Like many Buddhist constructions, this is a "Well, that's obvious" statement. We might then wonder at the prevalence of this theme across cultures. If it's so simple, why keep repeating it?

I guess it's not so simple.

So, where my mind went was to two "Jesus" stories that also share this theme. In both cases, Jesus is bopping along the road, and someone says or does something that interests him. In each case, he says, "Come and follow me." In the one instance he is speaking to "the Rich Young Ruler, (Mt. 19:16-26)" who had seemingly done some pretty profound stuff. He'd actually obeyed the law. He asked what else he needed to do. Jesus said,
"If you want to be perfect, go and sell all you have and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me." But when the young man heard this, he went sadly away because he had many possessions.

In the other instance, one of Jesus' "2^nd string followers" is invited to join the inner circle. Same pattern: Matt 8:21-22
Another of his disciples said to him, "Lord, first let me go and bury my father." But Jesus said to him, "Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead."

In a sense, fitting these stories (which are taken as to be "quite likely to have happened" by Biblical scholars) together with our rule of the day tells us both about what is required and how we resist. I often think of the backpacking trips Dar and I have taken. Here's a photo of Dar, suitably "encumbered."

When you backpack, you have to think a bit. What are the essentials? What would be nice to have along? How much does all of this weigh?

The tendency for many of us is to try to drag everything along, "just in case." Which is what is so nice about the backpacking experience. Unless you plan on taking along a caravan of mules, you can only take what you can carry. And more: you can only take what you can carry all the way to wherever it is you are going, taking into consideration the terrain. I can carry more "on the flat" than I can carry in the high Rockies. That's just the way it is.

The portion of the Rich Young Ruler story concerning possessions is condensed into the idea of packing light. Often, people take Jesus' demand that the rich guy sell everything as a condemnation of wealth. Indeed, Jesus even goes on to say how difficult it is for the rich to "enter the kingdom of heaven." This, however, is decidedly not the point.

The rich guy was looking for another "simple rule to follow." Jesus said, in effect, "Give up what is most important to you." In the rich guy's case, it was his possessions. In another person's case, the "giving up" might be giving up on certainty. Or giving up on being right. Or giving up on a relationship. Or giving up a job. The same thing holds on a backpacking trip. I've seen people trying to take a mound of stuff into the backcountry. They have to learn to leave their burdens behind, so to speak, and to travel light.

Not easy when we have chosen to define ourselves by our possessions or our knowledge or our wisdom or by job title, relationship or letters after our name. Some of us define ourselves by "what ails us." (I can't do this! I'm poor, or an "Adult Child", or a helpless victim, I'm lame or the product of bad parenting!!!) If we do not leave our "excuses" behind, we'll never take the first step.

In the second story, Jesus again makes that remarkable offer, "Come and follow me." It's an expression of, "Here is wisdom and a path and a guide and a roadmap. But you have to do it now." And the guy says, "Let me bury my father first." Now, on the surface, this seems like a reasonable request.

Only thing is, the text doesn't say that the guy's father was actually dead.

OK, I'm making a bit of a joke there, but I'm actually not. I have had tons of clients that tell me that they can't begin their own walk until: their kids grow up (I kill myself over that one, as I know a lot of 30-year-old kids still clinging to mom and dad), their parents die, they make "enough money," (often an excuse for not beginning therapy - and isn't it funny how there's money for some stuff, but not for "beginning the walk?") or the best of all, they're waiting until the time is right.

One of my clients is waiting to start her walk until she knows that the outcome will be "perfect." Yikes.

Leave the dead to bury the dead. What an interesting line. It would almost seem to indicate that those not actively on the walk are the "living dead." Waiting, wailing and moaning.

You see, the point here is that there is never going to be a perfect time to start. There is never going to be a time when you can haul all your crap with you. There is never going to be a time when everyone around you sings praises for your decision. There, in short, is never any time other than this moment. In this moment, there is one step. And one step. And one step.

I tend to burden myself with "what if's." As I do, my walk almost slows to a standstill. I stall because the unknown-ness of the walk is scary. To simply leave, taking nothing along, not knowing where I am going, not knowing why, is scary. So I want to lie to myself and get the hell off the path. At least by the side of the road, frozen, I know where I am.

And then I see that just standing there, rooted to the spot, is the equivalent of dying. I'm going to have an eternity to practice being dead. There is only "now" to be alive. And to be alive is to walk. Despite the fear and without any certainty. Other than knowing that this is all there is. One moment and maybe the next. Waiting and wishing is not going to change things.

What are you using as a way to stall? What are you attempting to drag along? Whose permission do you think you need? What do you think you need to "know before you go?"

Leave the dead to bury the dead. Travel light. Let go. And take a step.