Despising Phantoms

73 ⁽⁰⁾ A psalm of Asaf:

⁽¹⁾ How good God is to Isra’el,
to those who are pure in heart!
² But as for me, I lost my balance,
my feet nearly slipped,
³ when I grew envious of the arrogant
and saw how the wicked prosper.
⁴ For when their death comes, it is painless;
and meanwhile, their bodies are healthy;
⁵ they don’t have ordinary people’s troubles,
they aren’t plagued like others.
⁶ So for them, pride is a necklace;
and violence clothes them like a robe.
⁷ Their eyes peep out through folds of fat;
evil thoughts overflow from their hearts.
⁸ They scoff and speak with malice,
they loftily utter threats.
⁹ They set their mouths against heaven;
their tongues swagger through the earth.
¹⁰ Therefore his people return here
and [thoughtlessly] suck up that whole cup of water.
¹¹ Then they ask, “How does God know?
Does the Most High really have knowledge?”
¹² Yes, this is what the wicked are like;
those free of misfortune keep increasing their wealth.
¹³ It’s all for nothing that I’ve kept my heart clean
and washed my hands, staying free of guilt;
¹⁴ for all day long I am plagued;
my punishment comes every morning.
¹⁵ If I had said, “I will talk like them,”
I would have betrayed a generation of your children.
¹⁶ When I tried to understand all this,
I found it too hard for me —
¹⁷ until I went into the sanctuaries of God
and grasped what their destiny would be.
¹⁸ Indeed, you place them on a slippery slope
and make them fall to their ruin.
¹⁹ How suddenly they are destroyed,
swept away by terrors!
²⁰ They are like a dream when one awakens;
Adonai, when you rouse yourself,
you will despise their phantoms.
²¹ When I had a sour attitude
and felt stung by pained emotions,
²² I was too stupid to understand;
I was like a brute beast with you.
²³ Nevertheless, I am always with you;
you hold my right hand.
²⁴ You will guide me with your advice;
and afterwards, you will receive me with honor.
²⁵ Whom do I have in heaven but you?
And with you, I lack nothing on earth.
²⁶ My mind and body may fail; but God
is the rock for my mind and my portion forever.
²⁷ Those who are far from you will perish;
you destroy all who adulterously leave you.
²⁸ But for me, the nearness of God is my good;
I have made Adonai Elohim my refuge,
so that I can tell of all your works.

This morning, I started watching Brad Warner videos online, and hopscotched my way through a bunch of topics like “goal-less practice,” “zazen is good for nothing,” “suffer injustice,” and “surrender.” I didn’t have any particular reason to keep watching them, other than indulging my endlessly inquisitive mind, and I found my thoughts jumping around like fleas.

Those flea-thoughts did find some juicy spots to bite down on, though. Brad read aloud from a book called, “The Zen Teachings of Bodhidharma” on the topic of suffering injustice: I reproduce it here with no claim to accuracy:

“To enter by practice refers to four all-inclusive practices: 1) suffering injustice; 2) adapting to conditions; 3) seeking nothing; 4) practicing Dharma.”

Brad went on to say that he wanted to focus on ‘suffering injustice.’ As I listened, I heard his commentary in a way that led me to take a look at a memory of mine (of personally suffering injustice) from an entirely different angle. Here’s the part that struck me with such strength that it made me hold still for a minute:

 “When those who search for the path encounter adversity, they should think to themselves, ‘In countless ages gone by, I’ve turned from the essential to the trivial, and wandered through all manner of existence; often angry without cause, and guilty of numberless transgressions. Now, though I do no wrong, I’m punished by my past. Neither gods nor men can foresee when an evil deed will bear its fruit. I accept it with an open heart, and without complaint of injustice. The sutras say, ‘When you meet with adversity, accept it, because it makes sense.’ With such understanding, you are in harmony with reason, and by suffering injustice, you enter the path.”

As he read, I made a new connection to an old understanding: that of the shared nature of wrong-doing, and of my obligation under compassion to ask forgiveness for all the wrongs that have been done, and are now being done, and maybe even all the wrongs that will be done. By anybody.

Several years ago, while saying the general confession in church, I had a strong perception of my fundamental connection with the “we” in the prayer. In part, the prayer goes like this: “…. we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone. We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We are truly sorry, and we humbly repent. For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us; that we may delight in your will, and walk in your ways….”

For me, now, to say that prayer is to acknowledge that I take part in all the violence, arrogance, wrong-doing, and injustice of the world, and that I can apologize on behalf of all of us; asking for mercy, reprieve, and delight— and for all beings to walk in the Way.

The understanding that I bear a shared responsibility for all Bodhidharma’s “numberless transgressions” has now combined with my understanding of the meaning of corporate confession: that it isn’t just for me and all the other pew-sitters next to me: it’s for the whole world, and all the countless beings in it.

My memory of that moment of perception about the confession, along with the new connection that I made this morning, led me back to the psalm for today, and it was then that my mind did a neat little involution, and I realized that I could read the psalm as if the descriptions of the bad guys and the good guys were all describing me. I also realized that all the psalms that I’ve been having trouble with; the ones that I’ve called “whiny and vindictive;” could be read in this new way. I gave myself a dope-slap when I grasped the reality that this new understanding changes everything about the psalms. Whee!

I’ve been advocating for a while now the concept that people would be better off if the idea of “Us vs. Them” were to be abandoned in favor of the idea that “We are all Us.” This new epiphany of mine adds another liminal layer to the discernment of the way everything is connected. “Interbeing” is Thich Nhat Hanh’s phrase, and it’s a fairly apt one in my opinion, even though I think it’s often misinterpreted in ways that tend to leave out the experience of ‘suffering injustice.’

When I read this psalm through the lens of interbeing, then suddenly that exquisite doubled vision jumps into focus. It’s not that I am Them, or that They are Me— it’s more as if the tides of wrong and right action flow through all of us, and we are able to learn that this is true because it makes sense.

There is a Zen Koan, “Mu,” which talks about enlightenment in terms of walking “hand in hand with the ancestral masters, the hair of your eyebrows entangled with theirs, seeing with the same eyes, hearing with the same ears.”

That implies that “to suffer injustice” is to walk with our eyebrows entangled with everyone else’s, seeing through their eyes and hearing with their ears.

Now, I can read the psalm like this:

“So for us, pride is a necklace; and violence clothes us like a robe. Our eyes peep out through folds of fat; evil thoughts overflow from our hearts. We scoff and speak with malice, we loftily utter threats.  We set our mouths against heaven; our tongues swagger through the earth.”

and this:

^“ Indeed, you place us on a slippery slope and make us fall to our ruin. How suddenly we are destroyed, swept away by terrors! We are like a dream when one awakens; Adonai, when you rouse yourself, you will despise our phantoms.”

But, there’s also this:

“Whom do we have in heaven but you? And with you, we lack nothing on earth. Our minds and bodies may fail; but God is the rock for our minds and our portion forever.”







Old Man Zen says, 
“Aww, Jeez! That better not mean we have to share the same toothbrush."