There’s an old Zen saying, “Fall down seven times, get up eight times.” In Wild Chickens and Petty Tyrants I shared the image of a young children learning to walk. Just at that point where they are getting it, they don’t mind falling. They get up with exuberance in the pursuit of mastery.
A few entries ago I spoke about Right Effort and I’ll revisit that notion here again. Think of a balance beam and you are learning how to walk on it. You fall down a lot; there’s no other way to learn. The effort of learning is not staying on the beam; that is the result of learning. The effort of learning is getting back on again after you fall off.
Except in the case of meditation the balance beam is rigged — it’s off kilter, so that we can’t not fall off and fall off frequently. Sometimes we manage to navigate its expanse without falling off, but most time we do: our minds wander into the future, drag along the past, won’t shut up.
Perhaps we shouldn’t beat ourselves up for falling off a rigged balance beam. Perhaps compassion might be in order.
Fortunately, the ground below yields to the weight of our bodies. While the worry or the memory might be painful, returning to the present is not. The present moment is not resentful when we fall down. It always receives us back without complaint.
So our efforts are best made in bringing ourselves back to now each time we fall off. If this transition can be accompanied by a smile, all the better.
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