95 Dudeisms

Been ponderin’ on what I think is an old Buddhist (maybe) parable (pretty sure) about what it means to have a “clean mind” (sorta).

The way it goes, two monks are walking along, and there’s this river. Too small for a bridge or ferry or whatever, but still kinda deep. Not sure why the answer seems to be “just wade the fuck across it, who cares if you get wet,” but it’s not really that kind of parable.

And for reasons still unexplained, there’s a woman on their side of the river. She’s somehow both very attractive and very poor, as she isn’t wearing much in the way of clothing. And despite not addressing either question, she manages to convince the dudes to help her to the other side of the river. Even though according to, like, their temple or whatever, even looking at a pretty woman, especially in a low-clothes situation, is big time bad mojo.

But her argument must have been really good, because one of them picks her up and carries her across, then sets her down, and the two dudes keep walking. Never addresses why she needed to get across, we don’t even know if, like, the two dudes were even intending to cross the river in the first place, that might’ve been, like, where they turn back and go get a beer, would seem kinda weird for them to plan out a walk every day that involves getting your robes soaking wet, but…

Anyway, the point is supposed to be that after the dudes keep walking for a bit, one of them — the dude who didn’t carry the woman across the river, and was actually looking pretty pissed off about the whole thing — turns to the other dude and lays into him about how this aggression will not stand, how could he possibly have touched that woman, let alone look at her, blah blah blah.

And the other dude, who did carry the woman across the river, is supposed to reply with, “I set that woman down back at the river. Why do you still carry her with you?”

–

And like I said, I’ve been ponderin’ it. I used to really like it, it was one of my go-to’s.

But then, at first, mostly, because, though I get where they’re coming from, it’s always seemed a little like the hero is supposed to be the hero because he harshes on his buddy’s mood. There’s nothing wrong with arousal or sexual congress. It’s not his buddy’s fault, entirely, that he’s suddenly got a new, prominent fold in that robe of his that he’s trying to keep hidden. He’s gone through a lot of shit, and clearly isn’t thinking right, about women, or sex, or himself, or there wouldn’t be a fucking parable in the first place. Yeah, he was being a fucking Walter about the whole situation, but you don’t have to go for the emotional junk-shot like that.

It’s always bugged me. Like finding a little scrap of paper in your sandwich, and sure, you didn’t taste any paper before then, certainly don’t remember chewing on any, it’s probably just a tiny scrap of the wax paper that was on the cheese slices to keep them from sticking together, and dude just didn’t peel all of it off before loading up your hoagie, it’s not like it’s mold or a bug or something. But still, I’m not feeling too hot about that sandwich anymore.

No, the way it’s been presented to me, and to others enough times, it’s more about scoring a point then laying down a serious koan. Our hero dude is supposed to be the hero because he A) never noticed the woman was attractive, B) didn’t treat her as an equal, fully-realized human being, 4) bought whatever sob story she was selling, C) ignored his friend’s (albeit misguided) discomfort, and 4th and finally, when his buddy full on melts down, he hits him with a cheap shot.

I mean, stop for a second and replace “attractive woman in a low-clothes situation designed to tempt men’s hearts astray” with, say, Jew. Or pre-T transman. Or 300+ pound black butch dyke lesbian with a lisp. Or someone with autism who just finished binge-watching DS9 and wants to tell you about every episode in order.

Now our hero dude’s message is basically, “That person didn’t bother me, because I don’t even acknowledge their existence as a person who existed before now and will again after. And my answer to your having a fucking hissy fit over it is not to try to sort out why you have a problem with them, where that shit came from and what we can do to address it. No, my whole point is that hating is fine, just don’t think about it too much.”

Really not feeling too good about that sandwich now.

But there is another way of looking at it, setting aside the whole layers of puritan bullshit.

–

Yeah, it’s really fucking problematic that the “negative vibes” the one dude has are rooted in pretty blatant misogyny and toxic masculinity and some serious fucking backward views on sex and consent in general. If you ask me, I’d say you might want to spend a bit more time thinking about that shit. Work to do there.

But let’s say that what the two dudes encountered at the river wasn’t a straw-man for someone’s personal bigotry. Let’s say what they encounter at the river is some legit trauma. Maybe there’s a bard or some shit (I don’t know man, I said “monks” up at the top and now the whole thing’s a sorta Ren Faire situation), singing the same song the dude’s mom used to sing when he was a kid, before she died of the plague. Or maybe there are some fucking nihilists guarding the river crossing, same fuckers that robbed our two dudes in the parking lot last week, now they’re here doing it again, and they have swords and our dudes don’t (but still have bruises from last week), and Donny’s got a pain in his left arm now, and that’s some serious fucked up bullshit there.

The point is, they’re walking away from the river, and one of our dudes just can’t let it go. Like it’s fucking ‘Nam or something, it’s all he can talk about, and he’s just getting more and more riled up about it (kinda more legit now that it’s not grounded in horrible sexism or some shit).

And now we can have our hero turn to his buddy and say, “I know that shit sucks. But it’s still back at the river, and right now, we’re all the way over here at the not-river. Leave that shit back at the river. Put that shit down.”

–

Most of the time, shit’s hard to put down. Sometimes that’s good. You meet a new dude, and fall in love, and when you’re not with them or doing something with them, all you can think about is being with them and doing something with them. Or a sweet new job, something low-key but interesting, and it’s like, you want to talk about it all the fucking time.

In a way, life is all about experiencing shit, and hoping some of it’s good enough to keep carrying around with you, even after that specific shit is over and done. If our dudes hadn’t had their heads so far up their own asses, they might have spent more time thinking about how pretty the trees were. That’s some shit that’s worth holding on to, wherever you are or the river is or you are vis a vis the river.

And what would follow, in, like, a corollary or whatever, is that life is also about realizing that a lot of that shit isn’t good to keep carrying around with you.

Marie Kondo that shit. That Walter that cut you off on the freeway, like two hours ago? You’re still pissed off about it, even snapping at the dudes you love, who weren’t even in the car with you, let alone driving the car that cut you off? Are you still in your car on the freeway? Is he? No? Put that shit down.

Just walk away. Time is fucking up, put your pencils the fuck down and walk away.

I know it sounds stupid and too fucking simple. Like “I’m Okay You’re Okay” levels of fucking stupid and simple. But sometimes that’s what you need. Pattern interrupt, man. Be fucking stupid and simple. Train yourself. Fucking embarrass yourself, even if it’s just in front of you.

You know why? Because while you’re thinking about how embarrassed you are at resorting to what looks like something out of Self-Help 101, it’s already worked. You know what you’re not thinking about? Whatever it was that you needed to put the fuck down.

–

It’s not like it feels good to carry the bad shit around with you all the time. But there’s big difference between Good and Comfortable, and it’s real easy to get comfortable carrying that shit around with you.

Like, it does not feel good, like the exact fucking opposite of good, to think about what happens the next time your landlord comes around for the rent. It does not matter how many of his shows you go to, eventually you’re gonna have to pay up. And you can can get used to that sudden phantom stab in your heart when you think about it and still don’t have a good answer, whether or not Marty’s actually at your front door asking for the rent. Like you’re supposed to feel that way.

You’re not.

You’re not, technically, supposed to feel any particular way about anything. But we do, all the fucking time, and it’s real easy to just get used to whatever’s there, without even realizing what’s there.

It’s like keeping a piss-covered rug in your living room. Yeah, it really tied the room together, still does, technically, and there’s a big part of you that’s like, “Fuck it, I need a rug, I need something to tie the room together, this is what I got, it’s already right there, I’ll just burn a shit-ton of incense.”

Or don’t even think it through that clearly, just unconsciously avoid stepping on that dark patch and try to remember to buy some Febreeze.

But sometimes you gotta just admit what that dark spot is and toss the rug. Sometimes it’s better to figure out how to live in a room that isn’t tied together by anything, than it is to let a piss spot do the tying.

But the most important thing is to try to pay attention. To try and have a small fucking idea of where the river is, and where you are vis a vis the river. And what sort of shit is still back at the river, and definitely not here with you now at the not-river.

You’re never gonna toss the piss-stained rug until you can look at it and go, “Shit, that’s a big piss stain, isn’t it?”

Feel what you’re gonna feel. But try to pay attention to it, every now and again.

Because you’ll surprise yourself. You start asking yourself stupid questions, like “What am I feeling?” and “Why am I feeling that?” sometimes the answers aren’t so stupid. Or they are, but you’ll start to notice that it’s the answer that’s stupid, not you. That answer, no matter how stupid, is not you, and the not-stupid you is capable of finding a new, better answer eventually.

Or maybe not. Nothing’s guaranteed. But in the meantime? At least notice the piss stain. Call it for what it is. And:

Put. That. Shit. Down.