Jamie Evans
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Idiot compassion. What a startling, beautiful phrase.
Following this path does not turn us into grinning fools with soft hearts. Yes, our hearts soften and open to compassion, but true compassion has a hard edge.
I imagine a teacher who fails to manage the class with discipline, so that kids are always talking over the teacher, interrupting each other and chaos ensues. A parent who wants to be a buddy to their child and fails to give solid guidance.
I observed a touching example of idiot compassion in my fourth grade class recess yesterday. Atlas struggles to fit in and is essentially besotted with a couple of the ‘popular’ athletic boys in the class. He so wants to be one of them. They’re playing soccer – a huge argument ensues. (It always does. I adore soccer, but the arguing! Oy! Let it go!) One boy yells “Shut up, Atlas!” in his face. My reaction was to give the culprit a five minute time out to cool off. Later I talked to the whole class about the incident and gave them space to respond. We’ve been working on the importance of using kind words in recent weeks.
Atlas says ‘no, actually.. it was ok. I didn’t mind being yelled at.’ This is idiot compassion. Atlas thinks by being more submissive he’ll be accepted as one of the cool kids. True compassion in this case would be the path that’s harder for him to take right now. I hope he’ll learn the lesson.Kimberly,
thank you so much for your insight on a very difficult topic. So helpful to me. It’s about creating a container that’s as safe and welcoming as possible. Not as simple as it sounds, perhaps!David,
I enjoyed – again – reading about your fifth grade teaching experience. As a fourth grade teacher myself, I can relate. I’m sure you have worked hard to create a safe space for your students (the ‘container’ that’s so important for our work). Allowing students to share honestly and authentically without judgment (this part is crucial, of course, and not always easy to achieve) gives them the space to share themselves so that we can treat them with the sensitivity they need.Thank you!
Thank you, Kate, for diving in on this tricky topic, and especially for the brilliant quote from Jung! Love it!
The idea of a lama or guru feels problematic to me. My first guru was my father. His influence haunts me to this day, though he died over twenty years ago. He was a brilliant charismatic renaissance man, musician, party animal. He was popular and charmed many. He was not, unfortunately, devoted to his children. Perhaps because of the gaping hole in my relationship with him I crave a deep lama relationship.
My first regular meditation practice was in Bikram yoga. It’s a practice I still love, but which has developed a negative image because of the awful public misbehavior of its founder. Another flawed guru. So many flawed gurus! (For a superb read on this issue in a wider artistic and cultural sense, a cold hard look at real life – please read Claire Dederer’s brilliant book, Monsters – A Fan’s Dilemma.)
Despite my misgivings, I have a long-standing devotion to the practice, which feels deeply healing to me, physically and spiritually. I’ve found a wonderful community in yoga, committed to health, growth and compassion.
Rena
Thank you so much for your kind words! You somehow understood exactly what I was clumsily trying to get at. Writing the essay was like pulling teeth, frankly, I can’t figure out quite why. That struggle with the ego, again, I suppose.David
I loved reading your essay. I teach fourth grade in Chicago and have done and felt exactly as you described many times. Your words gave me a fresh perspective on the broccoli-ego nature of the practice. Thank you!One of the rich threads through the experience of this course for me has been the many ways Susan’s teaching parallels my experience of AA and the twelve step program. Around the same time I got divorced, I also got sober, as well as changing my career from the restaurant business to education. The Big Book of AA is clear that it’s suggested to work the steps for a year before making any other big changes. By some mysterious instinct I still marvel at, I knew I had to do it all and I’m deeply grateful I had that insight and stuck with it. My life is utterly changed from a decade ago.
In the first steps of AA we work to release ourselves from self-centeredness and fear. We develop discipline through simplicity and devotion. In the twelfth step we serve others and work to practice the principles in all our affairs. “Your gomden goes with you everywhere.” The program suggests that we ‘give it away to keep it.’ It’s a beautifully paradoxical principle that’s worked to improve the lives of thousands of people. To remain sober and free, we serve others and help them. We ask to be released of the bondage of self.
A few weeks ago I was stressed and exhausted at work, as so often, and got a text out of the blue from an old friend I hadn’t spoken to in a few years. She was suffering and asked for help, knowing I’m in AA. I had been feeling stuck in my program, skipping meetings and feeling generally miserable, but hearing this beloved friend’s plight immediately energized me and I knew exactly what I needed to do. We went to a meeting together that evening – her first – and everything changed for me, and, I hope, for her.
I was married for 25 years. Two wonderful kids, the younger now in his thirties already, with a son of his own. My ex and I worked together at a restaurant we still own, living and working together for most of our married life. It was wonderful at times, but also very stressful and we fought a lot. Many deeply regrettable harsh words on both sides.
Over time and in couples’ and individual therapy I realized I wanted to get divorced. An idea I resisted for a long time but it grew in me. I felt my authentic self was disappearing – looking back, I’m deeply grateful for this painful realization, and for my consistency in working towards a more authentic life. No idea where the realization came from or how I knew, but I was right, and the divorce – initially horribly painful, turned out to be for the best for me. (I can’t say if it was the best for my ex or not, but I hope so.) Eight years on, we have a strong loving relationship – I was going to say cordial, but it’s deeper than that. We still own a restaurant together and still agree on most of the business decisions, more importantly we talk about the kids and the amazing wonderful grandson and mostly agree about them, too.
Early on, I was lonely, miserable and full of fear. It wasn’t the joyful romp into freedom I hoped it might be. I’m so glad I stuck with it and did the work. So much more work to do.I was bewildered by the question of lineage at first. As I remember my group breakout room at our last session, I wasn’t the only one – that’s the value of working with a group, I suppose. Perhaps that in itself points to the importance of lineage and of being conscious of it.
I talked to my mum about our sessions and the idea of lineage and she immediately wanted me to say she was my lineage, which seemed laughable at first. It’s typical of her. Long story ….. trust me. But then the more I think about it, she actually has a point, not just in the obvious, basic sense of it. My interest in yoga as a little boy came directly from her. For years she has had a little shrine to Ganesh in her room.. It’s easy for me to forget these things, since she lives so far away and I visit her only once a year or two.
The deep influence of childhood is undeniable. All my first flood of feeling when I first saw the essay question about lineage was about my family and cultural identity, coming from Liverpool. I left Liverpool when I was 18, more than four decades ago, and have spent more than half my life in and around Chicago, yet I still identify intensely with my childhood home, it’s working class pride, sarcastic humour, progressive politics, love of football.
I loved Susan’s example of John Coltrane. As a sax player myself I can identify with his playing in a deep sense, knowing I could never hope to play just like that. But what I can do is jam along to his music and it sometimes it feels like mixing water with water, that beautiful image from the reading.
My hope is that as I continue this work my sense of lineage will deepen and give me confidence as a teacher in those frequent moments of doubt.
The idea of a lama or guru is problematic for me. My first guru was my father. His influence haunts me still, though he died over twenty years ago. He was a brilliant charismatic renaissance man who charmed many. Perhaps because of unmet needs in my relationship with him I crave a deep lama relationship.
My first regular meditation practice was in Bikram yoga. It’s a practice I love, but has developed a problematic image because of the awful misbehavior of its founder. Another flawed guru. But I have a long-standing devotion to the practice, which feels deeply healing to me, physically and spiritually. I’ve found a wonderful community in yoga, committed to health and growth.I’m Jamie, originally from Liverpool, living in Chicago, teaching fourth grade in a Catholic school. I practice mindfulness at least once a (school) day with my students. I’m a regular practitioner of what used to be called Bikram yoga, excited and a little daunted by the prospect of deepening my meditation practice and developing my spiritual life. I came to this sangha after reading Susan’s book The Buddhist Enneagram, which I’ve been recommending to all and sundry since I first read it. Fantastic book. Useful, informative, accurate, touching and very funny.
