Detachment

Today, I had an epiphany of sorts. A few posts back, I mentioned Uma Thurman’s dad, Robert Thurman. Well, if you didn’t catch it, no matter. He was the first American (and, I believe, the first Westerner) to become an ordained – if that’s the correct term – Buddhist monk. He gave up his studies and came back to the U.S., where he believed he could do more good, and now he is a theology professor in California. So I bought his book, Inner Revolution, and I’ve been reading it on the subway.

I’m getting a lot out of the book, but one thing in particular caught my attention today. Thurman was mentioning a set of rules that he compared to the Ten Commandments. They’re like Buddhist rules to live by, and I don’t have them memorized, but they really made a lot of sense to me. A few of them: tell the truth, love unconditionally, and remain detached. Now, I have to admit that the third one made me do something like a double take. I really had to think about how remaining detached could allow a person to love unconditionally. I think I understand now.

There are a few people in my life who I know I love unconditionally. My parents, my siblings, my son and wife (even though are marriage has ended) are a few examples. And by unconditional love, I mean that there is nothing these people can do that will cause me to stop loving them. And it’s not just immediate family: I have a very dear friend in San Antonio, Texas, who I love unconditionally. I love her so much that I would gladly surrender my life to save hers. But that’s actually quite easy. I would, in fact, even give my life to save that of her husband because I know what he means to her. Which raises another point: I’m not sure I love her husband unconditionally, because I think if he ever tried to harm her (not that I think he would – I’m only speaking hypothetically),I would no longer be so willing to sacrifice on his behalf and might even make his life a nightmare if his act was sufficiently egregious.

I’ve digressed a bit, but there is a point that I’m trying to get at. So I haven’t mastered unconditional love, because in reality I should feel unconditional love for all beings.

Now there’s another side of this. I have a history with all people I feel unconditional love for. What I mean is that I’ve shared some very close and personal experiences with these people, and I grew to love them to a degree that I’m willing to sacrifice for them without hesitation or expectation. But there’s a problem with this type of close association, and my wife is a good example of this: When you have a close, personal love relationship with another person, you get emotionally involved in such a way that you become hypersensitive to them. In other words, small things can become big. I might tell my wife, for instance (again, hypothetical only), that she is looking particularly attractive today. Despite my good intention and honest candor, she might be having a rough day and think that I’m trying to be sarcastic. Her response might be something like, “What do you mean, I’m attractive today? You’re saying I’m NOT attractive on other days?”

This is perhaps not the best example, but it’s one that comes readily to mind. Honestly, there were many times when I would try to compliment my wife or even try to cheer her up with a little good-natured teasing, but I cut way back on the compliments and totally gave up on the teasing, because she often misinterpreted what I was saying and became angry. But had I been, say, just a coworker, she would have either accepted the compliment, snickered at the teasing, or just shrugged the comment off if she didn’t understand it. The negative reaction only came when I was the one addressing her, and I truly believe that it was because I was too close; too emotionally tied to her. Because our relationship was so close and personal, she felt comfortable lashing out at me because I was the man strong enough to marry her.

So now I have to try to appreciate a sense of unconditional love for all creatures, many of whom bear malicious intent for me. If I allow myself to get caught up in petty feelings like my own selfishness, I will never be able to do it. In order to have the same kind of selfless love for others that Jesus had, I would have to give up, or remain detached, from my own personal failings and feelings. Likewise, I would have to be able to detach those with malice for me from their actions/intent. I can only do this if I see beyond the flesh and blood we all inhabit now.

It’s a start. I know I’m not there yet. I have long been a fighter. Not a day goes by when I’m not sizing people up, calculating what I would need to do if this guy wants to fight me or that guy has a bomb. And I’m not likely to turn that off anytime soon because it’s in my character, training and upbringing. But at least I have a better understanding, and it is already paying dividends in small ways.

Here’s one exercise I do: I try to imagine people I encounter throughout the day, and I picture myself giving them a hug. Then I imagine what I would be willing to give up for this person. If I can do this, I can push the envelope and I realize that I might be able to help people I’ve never been willing to open myself up to. It changes my attitude and I’m usually in a better mood. Sometimes, I think my coworkers might suspect I’m on drugs because I’m so friendly to them. Not that I wasn’t before, but I’m less likely to let little things get to me.

Now I’ve taken an important first step, but this isn’t just a marathon, it’s an infinite journey with an infinite number of steps. I pray that I can keep the pace and avoid stumbling too often.