“Oh, Jack’s fine,” said his wife. “He is recovering in the ICU.”
The truth was that Don’s wife had just met Jack’s grieving family in the hospital’s foyer. Jack had died. She could not bear to tell her husband that his new friend had died from the same operation that he was to have the following day. So she lied.
Don only just survived his own bypass operation. He was on the edge of life and death for three days, but he pulled through. I often think that if his wife had told him the truth, the extra worry would probably have been enough to push him over that edge into death. The lie had saved his life.
So I tell my followers that it is okay to lie sometimes. But only once every forty years!
53. Why We Lie
“Don’t you realize,” said the judge to the defendant in the murder trial, “that the penalty for perjury is very severe?”
“Yes,” replied the accused, “but it is far less than the penalty for murder!”
This explains why people lie so much: the penalty is usually far less when you lie than it is when you tell the truth.
For instance, a few years ago, a young girl came to me because she had become pregnant by her boyfriend.
“Why don’t you tell your mum and dad?” I asked.
“Are you kidding?” she replied. “They would kill me!”
So she lied to her parents instead.
It would be a far happier and healthier world if the value of honesty were raised so high that the penalty when you tell the truth is always far less than when you lie. The only way to achieve this is by giving amnesty, no matter for what, as long as the truth is told.
Then sons or daughters could tell their parents even the most embarrassing things, knowing that they would never be punished, not even scolded, but helped. When children are in big trouble, this is the time that they need their parents the most. Usually, they are too scared to confide and get help. Also, married couples could be totally honest with each other, working through any marital difficulties together instead of concealing them.
To all parents reading this book, please tell your kids that whatever it is that they have done, when they tell you the truth then they will never be punished or lectured but only receive help and understanding.
To all couples, promise each other that honesty is regarded as more precious than anything else in your relationship, so that there will never be any punishment, even for unfaithful behavior, but a forgiveness of each other’s weaknesses and a commitment to work together to make sure they do not reoccur.
Having promised them this, then keep the promise.
Where there are punishments, even scolding, the truth will be hidden.
That is why we don’t do punishments in Buddhism.
After the apartheid years in South Africa, it took the moral courage and wisdom of leaders such as Nelson Mandela and Archbishop Tutu to establish the first Truth and Reconciliation Commission. They understood that uncovering the truth of what happened in those brutal years was more important than punishment.
One incident from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission that continues to inspire me was when a white police officer confessed, in detail, how he had tortured and killed a black political activist. The testimony was being given in front of the tortured activist’s widow.
Her husband had been one of the many who had disappeared. Now, for the first time, she was hearing what had happened to the man that she had chosen to love above all others, the father of her children.
The police officer was trembling and weeping with overwhelming guilt as he forced himself to reveal the vicious cruelty of what he had done. When the confession was over, the widow leaped over the barrier meant to protect the witnesses and ran straight for her husband’s murderer. The guards were too stunned to stop her.
The guilty police officer expected violent revenge at the hands of the widow and would accept it. But she never attacked him. Instead, she wrapped her strong black arms gently around the passive white body of her husband’s murderer and said, “I forgive you.” The two of them stood there in the embrace of reconciliation.
All who were there broke out in tears. They wept, for a long time. Forgiving the unforgiveable shone hope into their future. In that moment, through their wet eyes, they could glimpse the possibility of racial harmony, and the end of fear, in that land.
If the brutal torture and extrajudicial murder of the one you love the most can be forgiven, what is left that cannot be forgiven?
When there is forgiveness, only then will there be truth.
54. Monkey Minds
A monkey was visiting a Buddhist monastery on one of the holy days. He thought that there would be so many visitors bringing offerings of food that someone was sure to drop a mango, or leave an apple unattended, and that would be his lunch.
As he was loitering outside the monastery’s big hall, he happened to hear an old monk give a sermon about the “monkey mind.” Thinking that this might be of interest to a monkey, the monkey listened.
“The monkey mind,” taught the old monk, “is a restless mind, always jumping from one thing to another, like a monkey jumping from one branch to another in the jungle. It is a bad mind that needs to be rectified through the practice of meditation in order to find peace.”
When the monkey heard the monkey mind being called a bad mind, he became angry. “What do they mean a monkey mind is bad! I am a monkey and monkey minds are just fine. These humans are slandering us. This is unfair. This is not right. I have to do something about this gross defamation!” Then the monkey swung through the trees back to his home deep in the forest to complain to his friends.
Soon, the large troop of monkeys was jumping up and down squealing, “They can’t get away with slandering us! This is species discrimination! How dare they! Let’s get a lawyer from the World Wildlife Fund. We monkeys have rights too!”
“Stop it!” ordered the leader of the troop. “Don’t you see? That monk was right. Look at yourselves, jumping up and down making so much noise. That is the result of having a monkey mind. You monkeys just can’t be still.”
The monkeys realized that their leader was correct. They were all cursed with monkey minds and would never find any peace. They all hung their heads and brooded in sullen silence.
“Hey!” said the monkey who had been to the temple. “I’ve got an idea. I heard that monk teach that if you meditate, then you can overcome the monkey mind and find peace.”
The happy monkeys started jumping up and down again, squealing, “Yeah! Cool! Let’s meditate. Let’s find peace of mind.”
After much jumping about, one monkey asked, “So how do we meditate?”
“First we have to find a cushion to sit on,” said one monkey.
“Yeah! Cool! Let’s find cushions!” And after a lot more jumping around and shrieking, they went off into the forest and collected a lot of grass and soft leaves which they fashioned into zafus, the Buddhist name for a meditation cushion.
“What do we do next?”
“Sit on the cushion,” said the monkey who visited the temple. “Cross your legs and place your right paw over the left paw, with thumbs slightly touching. Keep your back straight. Close your eyes and observe your breathing.”
This was the first time in history that monkeys meditated. The forest had never been so quiet. Unfortunately, it did not last long.
“Excuse me! Excuse me!” interrupted one monkey, and all the others opened their eyes. “I’ve been thinking. Don’t you all remember that we had planned to raid the banana plantation for our lunch today? I can’t stop thinking about it. So why don’t we all raid the banana plantation first, get that out of the way, and then we will meditate?”
“Yeah! Cool! Great idea!” shouted the other monkeys, jumping up and down again, and off they went to raid the plantation.
They stole many bananas, heaped them up in a pile, and having got that out of the way, went back to their meditation cushions. They sat down, crossed their legs,
placed the right paw carefully over the left paw, straightened their backs, closed their eyes, and resumed meditating.
After two more minutes, another monkey put up her hand. “Excuse me! Excuse me! I’ve been thinking too. Before we eat those bananas, we have to peel them first. Let’s get that out of the way, and then I can meditate without thinking about it.”
“Yeah! Cool! We’ve been thinking the same!” screamed the other monkeys. So once again the monkeys were jumping up and down, shrieking, and peeling all the bananas.
Having peeled them all and placed them in a heap, the monkeys went back to their cushions. Once again, they sat down, crossed their legs, placed the right paw carefully over the left paw, straightened their backs, closed their eyes, and observed the natural flow of their breathing.
“Excuse me! Excuse me!” screeched yet another monkey after only a minute. “I’ve been thinking also. Before we eat those bananas, we have to place them in our mouths. Let’s get that out of the way first, and then we can meditate peacefully without having to think.”
“Yeah! Cool! What a brilliant idea!” And all the monkeys jumped up and down, making a lot of noise, and put a banana in their mouths. A few monkeys put two bananas in their mouth, and one put in three. Some monkeys are no different than some people. But they did not eat them yet. This was just to get something out of the way so they didn’t have to think about it and could be free to meditate instead.
They sat down on their cushions again, crossed their legs, placed the right paw carefully over the left paw, straightened their backs, closed their eyes, and resumed meditating with bananas in their mouths.
Of course, once all eyes were closed, the monkeys ate all their bananas, got up, and left. That was the end of their one-and-only meditation session.
Now you know why we humans have difficulty finding peace of mind. Most of us have monkey minds, which say:
I will just get this one thing out of the way first, and then I’ll rest.
That is why, as I mentioned in my previous book, the only place these days that you find people “resting in peace” is in the cemetery. And in the Buddhist monastery, of course!
55. Let Go of the Banana
In ancient times, it was easy to capture a monkey. The hunter would wander into a forest, find a ripe coconut, and cut out a small hole that was exactly the same size as a monkey’s fist. He would then drink the sweet milk and eat some of the soft flesh.
Having eaten, he would secure the empty coconut to a tree with a thick rope or leather strap. After placing a banana inside the coconut, the hunter would go home.
Sure enough, a monkey would discover that hollow coconut with a banana inside and try to pull it out. But the hole is only just big enough for a monkey to put in an empty fist. When his fist was holding the banana, he couldn’t get it out.
By the time the hunter returns, the monkey has been struggling for hours to get his fist out together with the banana. Seeing the hunter, the monkey tries even harder to get both his fist and the banana out.
All the monkey needs to do to escape is to let go of the banana. Then he can pull his hand out and run. But does the monkey let go?
No way! Because monkeys always think, “It is my banana. I found it. It’s mine!”
And that is how monkeys get captured every time.
It’s also how humans get captured.
Say your dear son dies and you can’t stop grieving over him. You think about him all the time. You can’t sleep or work. Why?
All you need to do is to “let go of the banana” and you can move on in your life without suffering so much.
But you can’t let go. Only because you think, “It’s my son. I gave birth to him. He’s mine.”
Mothers tell me that when they look into the eyes of their newborn child for the first time, they intuitively know that this is a being not totally made from the parents; it is a being with its own past and individuality, a visitor from somewhere unknown who has now entered their life. It is theirs to care for, nurture, and love . . . not to possess.
Unfortunately, many parents forget this over the years and start owning their children. So when it is time to let them go, they can’t. If only they had remembered that one person can never own another, not even one’s own child. Then they would never get captured like a monkey and suffer with grief.
To love someone is to one day let them go.
56. Mummy, I’m Leaving Home
We often fear that if we let someone go, they will never come back. The opposite is often the case.
If you keep a bird locked in a cage, then one day, when you leave the cage door open by accident, the bird will fly away and never return.
Alternatively, if you keep the cage door open, ensuring that the cage is comfortable with a plentiful supply of good food, then the bird will fly away but always come back.
A young Australian Buddhist mother told me that her six-year-old son was so upset one afternoon that he pronounced in all seriousness, “Mummy, I don’t love you anymore, and I am leaving home!”
“Okay darling. I’ll help you pack,” the mother replied.
So she accompanied her little boy into his bedroom and helped him pack all the essentials, like his teddy bear, lucky pants, and Spiderman costume, into his little suitcase. Having packed the suitcase, mum went into the kitchen and made her son’s favorite sandwiches, placed them in a brown paper bag, and gave them to her six-year-old so he would not go hungry when he left home.
Standing at the open front door of their house, the mother waved her son goodbye, “Bye-bye, darling! Don’t forget to keep in touch!” The young child, carrying a suitcase in one hand and the sandwiches in the other hand, walked to the end of the short garden path, opened the gate, turned left, and walked off into his future.
Less than fifty metres later, the six-year-old was homesick. He turned around, walked back to the gate, and ran the short distance to the door of his home and into the welcoming arms of his mother, who hadn’t moved.
That was a very wise mum. She knew her little six-year-old wouldn’t go far from a loving home.
When I told that story to a psychologist from Singapore, she couldn’t stop laughing. After she had pulled herself together, she explained that almost the same thing had happened to her when she was a very young girl. She had an argument with her mother when she was six and demanded to leave home. Her mum immediately agreed and helped pack her bag. This young girl didn’t receive any sandwiches, however. Her mum gave her ten Singapore dollars to buy her own lunch! Her mum then accompanied her to the elevator, as they lived in an apartment block. The elevator arrived, the six-year-old girl stepped in, and the mother waved her goodbye as the elevator doors closed.
This young girl did not even make it outside the elevator before she became homesick. By the time the lift had reached the ground floor, she missed her mummy and her home terribly. She pressed the button for the floor on which she lived. When the elevator doors opened, mum was standing there with open arms. “Welcome home, darling!”
When the bonds of love are strong, you can let people go, knowing with certainty they will come back.
57. Passing over the Horizon
In the days before reliable aircraft, most people would travel from continent to continent on huge, ocean-going passenger liners. When the ship was about to cast off, the passengers would line the ship’s decks next to the pier, on which their relatives and friends stood. As the steam horn sounded the departure, both waved, blew kisses, and shouted their last goodbyes as the ship slowly moved away. Soon, the boat was too far away for those on the pier to distinguish who was who in the grey mass of passengers still standing on the decks, but still they would wave and gaze. A few minutes later, the loved ones still remained on the pier, staring at the ever-diminishing ship, somewhere in which was their loved one.
Then the boat would reach that defining line, the horizon, and disappear totally. Yet even though the relatives and friends on dry land could not see the
ir loved one anymore, let alone speak with them or touch them, they knew that they had not disappeared totally. They had just gone over a line, the horizon, that separates us from what is beyond. They know that they will see them again.
The same can be said to happen when our loved ones die. If we are lucky, we are by their bedside, embracing them and saying our last goodbyes. Then they sail off into the ocean that is death. They fade away from us. At their last, they reach the horizon, the defining line that separates this life from what is beyond. After they have passed that line, we cannot see them anymore, let alone speak to them or touch them, but we know that they have not totally disappeared. They have just gone over a line, death, which separates us from what is beyond.
We will see each other again.
58. The Frightened Water Buffalo
Water buffaloes in old Thailand were part of the family. They would live in the space below a villager’s house. They were usually so docile that little kids could safely go to sleep on their backs while the buffalo grazed lazily in the warm, idle months of the Thai hot season.
Sometimes, though, a water buffalo would take fright for reasons only known to itself. Raising its head with a snort, it would charge off in any direction.
A local villager was taking his water buffalo to his fields to graze early one morning, and as he was passing our forest monastery, something in the jungle spooked the buffalo. The buffalo raised his head and snorted. The villager tried to hold him back with the thin rope tied loosely around the buffalo’s neck, but the rope quickly wound around the villager’s finger, and as the buffalo charged off, it took the top of the man’s finger with it!
The poor man came directly into our monastery for help, with his hand covered in blood and half a finger missing. We took him to the hospital and had him patched up. He soon recovered.