When a Tibetan Buddhist monk stops in mid-stroll to give you some advice about building sand castles on a Friday afternoon at the local beach, you just have to wonder if there is some meaning behind it....
At least I would.
I wasn't quick enough to capture the exchange -- the enquiring head bent forward to inspect the small architects' progress, the nonchalant expressions on the children's faces, as if discussions with sandaled men in red robes about moats and well-fortressed walls was an ordinary occurrence (nothing of the sort like helicopters taking off or spontaneous police car tours). But these few images of his calm retreat possibly give a more accurate sense of the moment -- a sense of attention to the fleetingness. Of the importance of being alert to the unexpected. Like castles in the sand. Like meeting a Tibetan monk on the beach. Like life's every moment.
So many small miracles occur here -- the children's one opportunity during the week to be immersed in nature as a class. They work together, they play together, in a way that they cannot in the classroom. And, the unexpected happens, time and again, like gifts from the tide, coming and going.
For three weeks I have been thinking about this monk's retreating form, his brief conversation with our children, his advice to build their castle strong because a castle must be able to withstand the harsh forces of the world.... Was this ironic message hiding deep wisdom? Or was it a casual comment spoken merely to make light conversation? Or both? A Buddhist monk, who must certainly understand the nature of impermanence more deeply than most, giving advice about making that which epitomizes impermanence strong -- something that will be washed away at the next high tide, or flattened on a whim by gleefully destructive bare feet....
Looking into it (which I cannot help but do) I have to think that it has to do with surrender. Surrendering the fruits of our actions. Why even build a sand castle at all, knowing that it won't last even a day? Why expend the effort, the creativity, the planning?
Knowing that it will not last, we create, because that is what we do. Knowing that it will not last, that nothing lasts, we make it as good and as strong as we know how in the moment. Because -- why not? Because it is the only thing we *can* do. What makes my life not simple is my attachment to the results. My attachment to a particular form or idea that will not last -- that cannot last. My preferences and aversions.
The Great Way is not difficult
If you do not cling to "good" and "bad".
Drop all of your preferences,
And everything will be perfectly clear.
I found this Buddhist saying in college. I wrote it out and taped it to my bathroom wall so I would see it every day -- so that it would seep into me. Because I did not want my concepts to dictate my life. Knowing that my ideas of what is "good" or preferable, and what is "bad" or distasteful to me, have been accumulated through lifetimes of limited thinking, I sought clarity. It is why I have been attracted to alternative education, and why my daughter is now at the Sanderling School. Because I don't agree with "filling the pail" theories of education. I don't trust what would be in that pail when the educational system as we know it is through! What resonates with me is the "lighting the fire" theory. Because I feel that we are born with far more to unlearn than to learn. And if we can ignite that bonfire (that I also read about in Zen Buddhism in college), then we can burn out whatever is in the way of our seeing the world more clearly -- "leaving not a trace." And in that clarity -- that true clarity -- there is joyfulness in the surrender. Creativity dances. Solutions appear. The Will becomes a mighty force. Able to withstand high tides and low, the mirth of destructive bare feet, life's unexpected comings and goings.
At our school, we can say: In class one day, our children were taught by the ocean, the sand, and a strolling Buddhist monk.
