"Save a Hungry Ghost": Real is Pain

Pain is real. Do not let anyone say to you otherwise, or force you to deny this basic fact. It isn't all of life, though pain is definitely a part of it. Yet, pain isn't suffering.

The First Noble Truth: Real is Pain.

We often say to ourselves that we want something real. But is this the whole truth, nothing but the truth? If asked for testimony, I am sure we might all very well agree. But when push comes to shove, sometimes real is just too much. Sometimes real is just too painful.

Zazen, spiritual practice, and all of life can be as real as we let it—as painful as we let it, too. It sounds strange to say, for sure. Yet real and pain go together.

Reality is an enigmatic word. I am sure philosophers can spend years and lifetimes arguing the fine details of ontology. Yet our study of reality is not conducted in university lecture halls and 400-year-old brick buildings. It is done on our zafu, one breath at a time, with no where to hide and no one to hide from.

A Ghost's Calling

What is there to fear when pain becomes real?

I am no stranger to hiding. And no stranger to pain. It can be one of the most natural things to do. When there is danger, our instincts say to hide. Heck, even kids practice this every day on the playgrounds. Hide-and-seek is amazing preparation. Yet, what if we don't want to suffer?

When our knees hurt in zazen, pain is real. When our heart is heavy in grief, pain is real. When our frustrations are high because the car doesn't start, pain is real. Yet, pain and suffering are different. They might be close cousins, or even BFFs, or close siblings. Yet pain and suffering wear different skins.

It is hard to know sometimes whether we long for the real or long for pain.

This may seem like it is coming from left field, but take a look at dating profiles. Or resumes. Anywhere people specifically advertise themselves for some where else and some one else to be with. "I want something 'real,'" a profile says. "I want a 'real' opportunity to build your business and advance my career," a resume says.

I don't doubt their veracity, yet there is a saying, "Be careful what you ask for." And even another one, "There is no such thing as a free lunch." There are others too. "The truth will set you free." "Objects in mirror are closer than they appear." "Results not typical."

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

We are always looking for a way out, and always looking for a way in, too. We can no more do one without the other.

I am imagining a drug den in a dingy home on the other side of the tracks. Are the people there looking for a way out or a way in? And on a pediatric cancer ward or a palliative care unit for the gravely ill? Are the people there looking for a way in or a way out? What about a child holding her arms out wide waiting for Mom or Dad to pick her up? Or the one feeling alone in the corner of the classroom with a tablet in their face? Way in or way out?

Have you ever wondered why Grimm's fairy tales are so bleak? I know Disney movies are rated G for general audiences, though they are very adult stories. They tell the tales of children hunted down in forests, placed in ovens to burn, and the desire for their heart in a neat little jewelry box.

In our own way, we all know this feeling. And learned how to live with it in our own way the best we can.

Ghosts from our nursery do not disappear on their own. They can become ghosts in the zendo, sitting beside us on the tatami and staring at us from the wall we look down upon.

Zendos are full of ghosts. And kitchens where Bodhisattvas feed.

Have a Seat, Save a Ghost

When you enter the zendo each morning and evening, what are you looking for? A way in or a way out?

What brings you to the zendo? With the grace of 10,000 Buddhas on your face and the messiness and grit of life dripping from your body, what do you want and need? A place of refuge and sanctuary or a hideout spot and wartime bunker?

There are no right options; there are no wrong options. Just come on inside and sit your ass on the cushion. First things first.

The moment we enter the zendo with our left foot forward, walk clockwise to our spot, bow to our cushion, turn to bow to our sangha mates, and take our seat on the zafu, we can finally meet ourselves face-to-face in the mirror. Pain is inevitable, yet accepting something real is a choice.

We don't hang up our silent rejections, secret longings, or calloused wounds when we hang our work clothing up and don the Buddha's robes to enter the zendo. Far from it! They most certainly come with us from the outside. And certainly rise up from the inside in zazen.

Taking the backward step in Zen practice is choosing to embrace our day-to-day reality—our boring, exciting life free of fluff, AI-written dating profiles and resumes, and any possibility of false advertisement.

As another saying goes, "Silence speaks louder than words."

There is a simple, yet not so simple koan in the Miscellaneous Koans collection, "Save a Ghost".

Can you save a ghost? Will you save this ghost?