I am the squirrel; the squirrel is me.

Caveat: I cannot promise this will have, in the words of Mark Twain, "the stately grace of a torchlight procession," but I hope it expresses something I find nearly impossible to put in words.


I have long been an observer of human nature. Through mythology, folktales, and plain-old stories, I have formed layer upon layer of opinion and theory about the human condition. In recent years, I turned that inspection inward, realizing the same depths and complexities at which I marvel in others is also present in me. But I also know that I am a part of this world, messy and precarious as it is. I am part of the problem and solution. I am as much of the world as I am in it.

Part of this examination involves a very heady study of religions in general, but more specifically, I am fascinated by the concept of faith, which I define as an unshakable belief in something that cannot be empirically proven. Though this definition is not limited to matters of religion or spirituality, those are the very matters of which I speak when I talk about my own faith. Like many, I have engaged in a long and, I believe, unending quest to refine my own faith. It is a twisting road that enters dark primeval forests—a thought which is sometimes exhilarating and is many times frustrating. But I slog through.

I suppose the closest definition I could give to my own faith (and to put a quick stop to all the comments I can already foresee: No, I don't think I have to label my faith anymore than I think I have to label my politics or my outward ethical and moral philosophy on life, but I gravitate to this need to put some name to what I'm feeling.) would be as an ethical deist (i.e., Reform Jew) with slight underpinnings of red-letter Christianity (Jesus is way cool) under an umbrella of Buddhism.

I'm not here to talk about the first two, though I welcome any questions and comments about them, and would love to have a discussion about either one. I'm here to talk about the Buddhism. And yes, technically, I don't see Buddhism as a religion. Even 11th Century Zen masters differentiated Buddhism from other religions based solely on the idea that, while the tenets of the dominant three (Christianity, Judaism, and Islam) had to be accepted on faith, the precepts of Buddhism proved themselves through diligent practice. Yeah, I'm still working on that diligent practice part. Hence, the "Buddhism is a faith-based organism" for me. And no, I'm not even here to tell you something (most of you) already know. This isn't a tutorial about the Buddha. This is my attempt to explore a specific concept within Buddhism that I have trouble grasping, and an invitation to everyone to chime in on it.

The colors of the mind, excited by a flower or the moon should not be seen as self at all, but we think of them as our self
--Zen Master Dogen, from The Shobogenzo


I love Buddhism. Specifically Zen Buddhism. It is contemplative and spare, while still allowing for the ornate complexity of human nature. It addresses my concerns abut this world and still manages to convince me the world is perfect and is exactly how it should be because this is how it is. Sounds fucked up? Possibly. Maybe makes a little sense once you wrap your mind around it? Definitely. Doesn't mean I don't want things in the world to change. But what I recognize is this isn't going to happen unless I change. Because (and here's where it gets tricky for me) I have no individual thing called a "self". I am a part of every little blessed thing in the universe, and it is all in me. So if I want the world to change, I have to be the part that changes.

Wait, no self? WTF?

Exactly. I have no individual sparkly thing inside me that constitutes what we've called a "self", or soul, or spirit, or choose your own word. All I am is a collection of thoughts and memories packaged in some flesh, carrying out my own existence for however long the flesh holds out. Those memories don't really exist; they are part of a past that is long gone. My thoughts are little more than electrical impulses that generate these things called "feelings" and "opinions", because I label them as such.

The concept of "self" is very very difficult to let go of. Even if I can accept that I am an infinitely tiny part of a greater whole, accepting the idea of "self" as a mythic fiction goes against everything I've been taught. We are all told how special and unique we each are. This helps us develop egos, which help us thrive in this me-generated culture we live in. This is specifically a part of The Big Three: the concept of a soul, of a personal relationship with God, of each and every one of us living a life specifically designed or at least created by something greater and more powerful than we can grasp. Of our own littleness before big mystery. Of course, I won't get into the slight hypocrisy of this: that we can all accept we are the product of an omnipotent being, but not accept we are so entwined with this great omnipresence, we have no individuality at all. And therefore, no purpose, which leads to more difficulty. I want to believe I have a purpose. I was put here for a reason. I was given a specific set of gifts and talents to accomplish something, even if it's little more than make the people around me feel loved. Otherwise, what's the point?

On the other hand, purposelessness has its value. There is no ego wrapped up in it. There is no sense of failure; no long, late, pointless conversations about "living up to my potential"; and maybe I can contemplate putting down that fucking bat I've been beating myself up with for years. I am exactly as I should be because I am as the universe made me. I am this computer and you reading and that gnat flying around annoying the piss outta me. I am the squirrel that chatters at me all angry because I'm in it's space and I am the space it wants me out of.

I am the most evil person I can think of and I see how that person did what he did because he believed he was making the world a better place. I am the most beautiful person I can picture, and guess what? She has doubts and insecurities. These people are me, and so he loves his kids and she loves to dance.

I'm not saying I have even come near grasping the enormity of this. I think if I could, I would stand speechless in awe, not babble on for several hundred pointless words. But every once in a while, my brain manages to touch on it just enough to spark some vague sense of understanding. And that excites me. And makes me want to see more.