Practice

Technically, I am not a Buddhist. But I like a lot of their teachings. I share the Dali Lama’s core belief that, “Loving Kindness is my Religion.” However, I am profoundly human in my ability to live out that belief. That’s OK. The point is to practice. And I do. Sometimes more adeptly. Mostly, like a beginner.

Good Buddhists follow the Noble Eightfold Path. I think it is an excellent road map but like most religious texts composed long ago, not very practical for today unless you develop a personal interpretation. The Noble Eightfold Path is a sort of less bossy, more complex, Ten Commandments. Except that the Eightfold Path isn’t rules per say. More like habits or skills you practice. Like snowboarding or playing the tuba.

Of the Eight Right things to do on the Noble Path the one that presents the biggest daily challenge for me is Right Speech. We have a history, Right Speech and me. Issues!  I’m a blabber. A bean spiller extraordinaire! What’s more, I tend to embellish, hyperbolize, and add a spicy dash of fiction to my facts.

When teachers talk to parents about kids who are dishonest, we say, “They tell stories.” It’s gentle. “Suzy likes to tell stories.” Instead of, “Suzy will, balls out, lie to your face.” Like Suzy, I am a storyteller. Also a Ballsy liar on occasion. The things that have fallen from my mouth have often returned to drown me in an ocean of shame. They cost. Dearly. And so, I practice Right Speech.

Like any novice, I over compensate. For a long time I felt right speech meant I had to lay bare every bitter truth I encountered. Not realizing that the truth is a tangled mess of Christmas lights.  I over share. Over communicate. Natter. Confess. Enough, you get the picture.

So now, Right Speech is about practicing silence. Listening. Asking myself some hard questions before I speak, type, or text.

Questions like:

• Why do I want to say this?
• Will this cause harm to others or myself?
• How can I say this best?
• Is this the right time?

As you may have guessed, I only intentionally practice this once or twice a day. And mostly with others I know will be forgiving and patient toward my awkward attempts. The pauses alone are maddening. The false starts and jumbled metaphors, forget about it. In this instance, practice will never make perfect. I’m no monk. But the intention keeps me moving down the path, in my own time, with my own stumbling swagger.