A student asked Suzuki Roshi why the Japanese make their teacups so thin and delicate that they break easily.
“It’s not that they’re too delicate,” he answered, “but that you don’t know how to handle them. You must adjust yourself to the environment, and not vice versa.”
This is always a sad story for me to recall, because I am not gentle and kind by nature. My wife is, so l try to imitate her. She seldom tosses silverware into the sink, seldom knocks over a glass grabbing the mashed potatoes, seldom interrupts people when they’re talking.
So I have had to figure out where in my life to put out signs like the one that reminds me, “Slow ‑ Deaf Child at Play.” Some of my mechanisms include scheduling extra time to do everything (when I’m late, I get really rude), volunteering for hospice (people dealing with death do not allow me to be coarse), even listening closely to meditative music.
Your reminders will be different, of course, but do try to put some in place, little obstacles that prevent you from acting brusquely, going too fast, feeling important ‑ introduce anything that sets you up to handle things gently.
When all thoughts
Are exhausted
I slip into the woods
And gather
A pile of shepherd’s purse.
Like the little stream
Making its way
Through the mossy crevices
I, too, quietly
Turn clear and transparent.
Ryokan
Dewdrops on a Lotus Leaf
The world is rough and brusque and rude. What mechanisms provide me tools to resist that harshness, tools for gentleness and kindness?