On Trying to Clean Up My Act

by Bethany Saltman, March 07, 2007

As I have mentioned here before, I have always liked things to be "in their place," (and, unfortunately, that has included people, but I digress, sort of). That does not mean, however, that I have always been able to put things (it is easier with people!) in their places. Inertia, melancholy, utter self-absorption—malaise of some kind or another has often gotten in my way of making my life feel the way I so long for it to feel: tidy, sans dust—real and figurative—making perfect sense.

Some of my best friends, a group of four couples, have been playing charades for years. We divide ourselves up into two teams: Order and Chaos. Of course I am on Team Order, oddly, with all the guys. We kick ass. I love Team Order. I want to be the Captain of Team Order in every aspect of my life. But it's a fantasy. Chaos reigns. I hate that.

When I began to practice Zen, I didn't realize just how much I was craving cleanliness, and not just in my apartment, but of my soul, if you will. I had fought my urge to pull things together, feeling it was useless, that this hell on earth would always suck, so why bother making myself comfortable? I felt a wall of aversion between me and Order, and gave in to the barrier, slouched on the other side, cat hair piled a foot-high on the rug.

After my first sesshin, I came home and stood on a chair to clean the top of my kitchen cabinets.

Long story short: I have broken through the barrier.

And through these years of intensive practice and training, I have also scoured my mind, my heart, my desires, my fears, my anger, my embarrassing yearnings, my filthy cravings, thinking that maybe deep down I am a simple, shining thing, like a cute little penny, or the reflection in a puddle on a bright afternoon. I wish. Maybe if I keep seeing the thought and letting it go, working on koans, dissolving the distance between me and Me, I will not be...so freaking complicated. And the piles on my desk will disappear. I will be motivated to put away the bills as they arrive and are paid. My drawers will be organized, not magically, but because I will not resist it so much. That wall of aversion will crumble. And best of all, lo and behold, I will transform into a nice person.

And the truth is that to some extent, practice has made me neater in both mind and body.

BUT I am coming to think that getting myself together, as I have been envisioning it, is a dubious goal, especially now, living with my little Chaos machine, bless her heart. So Azalea wants to empty the contents of my purse, rip up a year's worth of useless receipts, eat my Cole Haan wallet. Being a mature practitioner surely can't mean foolishly attempting to tame a toddler. Maybe the go-with-the-flow-ers were actually on to something. Maybe I have mistaken control for equanimity. Probably. Okay: Definitely. It seems like after all this time, I should be a little more subtle in my understanding. Oh well.

So having a baby has helped me see this, no doubt. But still, I resist the whole my baby is my greatest teacher routine. My baby is a...baby. My teacher is an old man who is not just going about his own business, randomly needling me (at least not exclusively), but is a dharma expert. I don't want to trade him in, nor could I. And furthermore, Azalea, who is simply going about her own business, doesn't need the burden of that thankless job. I need to be her teacher. And I have a lot of work to do if I want to do it right—not perfectly, but totally.

And I really, really do.

P.S.: And then of course there's Judy, who, since Azzie was born, comes to clean once a week.

Bethany Saltman lives in Phoenicia with her husband, Thayer, and baby, Azalea. She has been a student of John Daido Loori Roshi, Abbot of Zen Mountain Monastery, for ten years. Her work has been published in magazines like The Sun, Buddhadharma, Geez, and, of course, Chronogram. She is currently working on a book called Sweet Jesus: Americans Convert to Christianity. E-mail Bethany at Bethanysaltman@gmail.com.