Jara - I Spit On You

I have heard that on one occasion the Blessed One was staying near Savatthi in the Eastern Monastery, the palace  of Migara's mother. Now on that occasion the Blessed One, on emerging from seclusion in the late afternoon, sat warming his back in the western sun. Then Ven. Ananda  went to the Blessed One and, on arrival, having bowed down to the Blessed One, massaged the Blessed One's limbs with his hand and said, "It's Amazing, lord. It's astounding, how the Blessed One's complexion is no longer so clear & bright; his limbs are flabby & wrinkled; his back, bent forward; there's a discernible change in his faculties — the faculty of the eye, the faculty of the ear, the faculty of the nose, the faculty of the tongue, the faculty of the body." 

"That's the way it is, Ananda. When young, one is subject to aging; when healthy, subject to illness; when alive, subject to death. The complexion is no longer so clear & bright; the limbs are flabby & wrinkled; the back, bent forward; there's a discernible change in the faculties — the faculty of the eye, the faculty of the ear, the faculty of the nose, the faculty of the tongue, the faculty of the body." 

That is what the Blessed One said. Having said that, the One Well-gone, the Teacher, said further: 

I spit on you, old age —
old age that makes for ugliness.
The bodily image, so charming,             is trampled by old age.
Even those who live to a hundred
are headed — all — to an end in death,             which spares no one,             which tramples all.

Samyutta Nikaya 48.10

Jara Sutta: Old Age

Transl. by Thanissaro Bhikkhu

As we get older we suddenly remember that the Buddha happened to mention that we would get older. He didn’t just mention it in passing he made it a point to mention it in his Dhamma. Aging, or “maturing” as we who are getting older like to call it, is a fact of life. It’s one of those unavoidable things everyone goes through, like sickness and death.  No matter how much money we spend on cosmetics, surgery and even prayer, it’s bound to happen. It happens moment by moment in imperceptible advancing.  One day we are happily falling in love for the first time and the next moment we are having difficulty walking, seeing, hearing or even holding our mud. But all this is fairly obvious, isn’t it?

What isn’t so obvious is the inherent “suffering” attached to the process of being alive. Life is an ongoing process. Most of us think about life as if it were static: the same yesterday, today and tomorrow. We seem to have a conception of the way things should be. Aging does not usually fit that scheme. When I was 16 I couldn’t wait to turn 18 so I could legally drink beer. When I turned 45 I sort of wished I was 16 again so I could have a redo. Now that I am even older I don’t have the ambition to be young again. Being young was a lot of work.

Being older is a lot of work too. Sometimes it hits us like a ton of bricks. We look into the mirror and realize, “I’m not the person I used to be.” Many people then go on a crusade to find that lost person who used to be them. The body that was once their friend and served them well somehow becomes the enemy. It slows us down and takes away the pleasure we used to find in it.

The Arahant Ambapali, whose full writing is found at the end of this blog,  was once a beautiful woman. So beautiful was she that she became the Courtesan to the King. At one point she says of her own aging,

“Black was my hair
—    the color of bees —
& curled at the tips;             with age, it looked like coarse hemp.”

At one point in her life she saw herself as she really was and no longer as she used to be. At one time she was so beautiful that the Buddha warned his monks not to be swayed by her looks. They would run away in fantasy. No longer the lithe beauty of her youth she found full enlightenment in seeing the process of being human.

Because she was on her way to arahantship, Ambapali could use the impermanence of her body as an object of meditation leading to enlightenment.

Impermanence is all about change. The wonder and awe of youth is there for just a moment and then it’s gone forever. Everything that we were used to is now disappeared. We need to get used to new things that will in their turn disappear.

The trouble with our desires is that we don’t want them after they are fulfilled. I continually crave Southern Fried Chicken, like the chicken mothers used to cook on Sundays back in the 1950s and 60s. I have gone to restaurant after restaurant trying to recapture that taste. Somehow the meal is never the same, even the gravy is wrong. It’s different. The reliving of something is never quite the same as it was when it was new, fresh and original.

Even if we could become young again, I wonder, would it be as much fun as we remember it to have been, probably not. High school was kind of bleak come to think of it. College wasn’t a lot of fun either. Vietnam was a drag. My first marriage was kind of nice until the honeymoon ended. Being a monk in Thailand was very nice, but would I want to do it again? Even our desires are impermanent.

When we don’t understand flow of life, its ephemeral nature of our life, we can sit back and just watch things come and go. It’s easier to let go of holding on to our desires and just delve into life in its present moment. We tend to give our desires more importance than they really deserve. When we don’t understand the nature of life then we do give desire greater importance. We want to be young again, we want the Southern Fried Chicken of our youth, and we want these things so badly that all of a sudden we believe we own these things. We have a right to these things. Then comes the stress of not having them.

I often ask myself, “Sensei Mui, what is it that you actually own?” The truth be known, I don't own very much at all. There was a time that I thought I owned my body. But ownership implies a certain amount of control. If I owned my body and had control over it I would not be growing older – and I certainly would not look like this! If I owned my car then it would never break down and always be full of gas and already know the way to where I wasn't to go. If I owned this Mac Book it would never crash and it would already know what I wanted to write before I began writing it. Whatever we think we own is what we attach to and that is a cause of suffering.

One night, quite recently, I drove off from a store. As I drove I was going to call home. I discovered that I could not find my iphone in my pocket. I reached to where I usually keep it. It wasn’t there. I reached for the dashboard and all that was there was my hat. I panicked. I thought to myself I put the phone on the roof of the care and drove off. It must be on the parking lot. I hoped and even prayed to some mythical deity that no one ran over it. I turned the corner to go back to the store. Then the word came to my mind, “Anicca.” I remembered the teachings of the Dhamma: all things are impermanent. Yes, that is the way it is. A tremendous sense of relief came over me. I calmed down. All things are passing, even the iphone. I felt that I was halfway to enlightenment as I took the Dhamma to heart. As I prepared myself to go to my appointment the light of a street lamp caused something to shine on my dashboard. It was the iphone. It was half covered by my hat. A new and different sense of relief came over me as I kissed my phone. Okay, so my sense of enlightenment was also impermanent.

That was my most recent encounter of the dramatic kind with impermanence. Why worry about things?  They come to you and then they go away. I have a favorite coffee mug at my home. I knew the minute I got it that it was already gone. The “good bye” is built into the “hello.” Stocks go up and then they go down only to go up again. Yet people worry themselves sick about the fate of Wall Street. Sometimes there’s a Democrat in the White House and sometimes there’s a Republican and still there are those who worry about who is in charge of Washington – hint, it’s not the president.

We understand the realities of life we don’t need to stress so much. All things are subject to change, not going with that flow we “suffer”, and all things are dependent on causes and conditions to bring them into being. As conditions change the thing it causes changes. As conditions like aging takes place we age. Sounds very simple. Why do we rebel against it? Because we don’t understand reality we have unrealistic expectations about life.

Our loved ones also come and go. As parents we invite strangers into our homes. We nurture them for 18 or 19 years, and then, with any luck at all, they are gone. Our parents whom we met so many years ago will also continue their personal journeys without us. We remember them, as they were when we were growing up, once grown we wonder who these old people are.

Why can’t we be like the birds? Even a sparrow is smarter than we are. They spend time sitting and nurturing their eggs. They take care of their chicks until they are able to fend for themselves and then make them leave the nest to make their own lives. There are some human parents that keep their children for inordinately long times.  There are kids now that never grow up because they have stayed with their parents for 35 or 40 years. The sparrow is wise. Her chicks come and go with their kamma. She doesn’t hang on.

When we know in our hearts that things change, we will finally be free. Relinquish the attachment that imprisons you and liberation sets in. We are our own jail keepers.

With happiness and pain it is the contrast that is important. Aging would not be so bad if we couldn’t remember what it was like to be young. If our normal state of health was sickness we’d probably be okay with it, but it isn’t usually normal for us. We were healthy once. We can compare our own sickness to our own memories of health. As I age and consider all its aches and pains I also remember youth with its activity and relative health. As I peer deeply into the mirror to discover spots and wrinkles and hair growing in odd places, I automatically also see the dark beard and hair, the smooth spotless complexion. This is what Ambapali alludes to in her testimony that follows.

 Black was my hair—    the color of bees —
& curled at the tips;       with age, it looked like coarse hemp.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Fragrant, like a perfumed basket
filled with flowers:       With age it smelled musty,       like animal fur.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Thick & lush, like a well-tended grove,
made splendid, the tips elaborate
with comb & pin.       With age, it grew thin       & bare here & there.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Adorned with gold & delicate pins,
it was splendid, ornamented with braids.       Now, with age,       that head has gone bald.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Curved, as if well-drawn by an artist,
my brows were once splendid.       With age, they droop down in folds.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Radiant, brilliant like jewels,
my eyes:       With age, they're no longer splendid.The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Like a delicate peak, my nosewas splendid in the prime of my youth.       With age, it's like a long pepper.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Like bracelets — well-fashioned, well-finished —
my ears were once splendid.       With age, they droop down in folds.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Like plaintain buds in their color,
my teeth were once splendid.       With age, they're broken & yellowed.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Like that of a cuckoo in the dense jungle,
flitting through deep forest thickets:
sweet was the tone of my voice.       With age, it cracks here & there.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Smooth — like a conch shell well-polished —
my neck was once splendid.       With age, it's broken down, bent.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Like rounded door-bars — both of them —
my arms were once splendid.       With age, they're like dried up patali trees.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Adorned with gold & delicate rings,
my hands were once splendid.       With age, they're like onions & tubers.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Swelling, round, firm, & high,
both my breasts were once splendid.       In the drought of old age, they dangle       like empty old water bags.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Like a sheet of gold, well-burnished,
my body was splendid.       Now it's covered with very fine wrinkles.The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Smooth in their lines, like an elephant's trunk,
both my thighs were once splendid.       With age, they're like knotted bamboo.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

Adorned with gold & delicate anklets,
my calves were once splendid.       With age, they're like sesame sticks.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.

As if they were stuffed with soft cotton,
both my feet were once splendid.       With age, they're shriveled & cracked.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.  Such was this physical heap, now:             A house with its plaster all fallen off.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words             doesn't change.
Such was this physical heap,
now:             A house with its plaster all fallen off.
The truth of the Truth-speaker's words                         doesn't change.