I’ve been thinking a lot about a particular Buddhist story, and it goes like this:
Two travelers are crossing a desert. They’ve gone days without water and are dying of thirst. They creep over the next ridge and witness a miracle: down below is a vast reservoir of cool, clear water.
The two travelers descend to the pool. One begins cupping the water in their hands and drinking it, before noticing the other traveler, who has dropped to their knees at the edge of the water, staring at the reservoir.
The first traveler asks, “Why aren’t you drinking?”
The second traveler says, “How could I possibly drink all of it?”
The simile is part of a genre of Buddhist stories in which the Buddha describes something undeniably absurd, then states “that unreasonable thing is just like this other thing you do all the time.” For example, in the simile of the traveler who won’t drink from the pool, the Buddha relates it to people who don’t start to cultivate themselves because they can’t imagine becoming a fully awakened person one day.
I like these stories. But I’ve never found them very convincing, at least not in the moment. I have a knack for convincing myself I’m right about even the most retrospectively foolish decisions. It is a skill shared by all of who us have singed our eyebrows.
I think these stories work best when the seep into your memory to be recalled later. When they go straight to the heart to be remembered like a favorite song. Then one day you notice the tune in your head sounds note for note like the traveler who wouldn’t drink the water, because they knew they couldn’t drink all of it.
Lately I’ve been hearing this tune in many places. Perhaps you’ve heard it in your life too: in that feeling of anxiety when you see a phone call from a friend you haven’t spoken to in ages, and are unsure if you have the space in your life for the friendship. Or the hesitancy to join a protest or volunteer for a cause, because you don’t know if you can go all the way.
These might not seem exactly like refusing to drink from the pool, and there may be situations where it makes sense to be reserved. Building friendships or fighting for a cause all require something of us: that we give them our time, our attention, our bodies, and maybe even our lives. Asking ourselves if we are willing to give what is required is a worthwhile question. And so is wondering if we’ll have the strength to maintain our boundaries if what we need to give becomes too much.
But lately I’ve been trying to think of the absurdity of the traveler who isn’t drinking from the pool not just because they would never be able to drink all of it, but also because they’d need to go through the terrible trouble to bend over and swallow. Imagine the stress upon the vertebrae! And don’t get me started on the larynx!
For all the anxieties I have about what I might have to give up, I so often forget to consider what I could receive.
It’s true. We gain so much. The moments we share with others, no matter how short, can give us opportunities to learn and feel joy in ways that will forever shape who we are people. And even the opportunity to volunteer for a cause is built upon the efforts and vision of so many people. People who imagined a way for others to build a better world before there was any road to walk down or banner to march under.
And while it is certain that this life is limited, and we must choose how to live it, I hope I can learn not to be fooled into thinking I might lose something when I cannot give completely. And instead recall what is being given to me.
The water looks fine.
Images licensed under Creative Commons by Nikk.
