Bed Bugs and Buddhism

The bedbugs have made me into a better Buddhist. Or Catholo-Buddhist. Or whatever mish-mash of “religions” I’ve become.

Here’s why: I have been a disciplined practitioner of eliminating my attachment to earthly things over the past days.

Meaning I have thrown out A LOT of stuff in a very short period of time. To quantify: One dumpsterful plus a double-load for bulk pick-up.

I thought it would be interesting to explore some Buddhist and Christian quotes on attachment and “worldly” living, made all the more interesting thanks to my new frenemies (props to Eric Calvert), the bedbugs.

Starting with this Buddhist quote:

The greatest generosity is non-attachment.

So, I’m being generous to the city dump, since no one wants my bedbuggy stuff? (Well, I suppose that’s not technically correct. See here for more on people who grew attached to my stuff, thereby taking on my former attachment with the added bonus of bedbugs.)

This next quote (also Buddhist) unmasks the illusion of the uniquely human trait–saving face:

The greatest wisdom is seeing through appearances.

This is a special shout-out to any of my neighbors still speaking to me, after the several days of trash piled on my front lawn, followed by the dumpster sitting in my driveway after that. Now, we’re just back to the small pile of mulch at the bottom of the driveway, with several small trees growing out of it.

Hey, what can I say, that mulch pile was several feet high at the start of the summer. That’s what I call progress! So, even though I appear to be “that neighbor,” I’m really an extremely upstanding citizen wholly focused on saving the world, starting with absolute bedbug elimination.

Here’s one from the Bible:

You adulterous people! Do you not know that
friendship with the world is enmity with God? Therefore whoever wishes to be a
friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God.

(James 4:4 (ESV))

Ignore the first part. It’s just a pithy lead-in to the meat. What this quote really means is that I am VERY close to God. I now despise my worldly possessions. Every time I throw a new load in the dumpster, I both curse AND say a little prayer. No matter that it mostly focuses on a swift death to all bedbugs in my near vicinity.

To further emphasize my hatred of my worldliness, all of my earthly possessions are now encased in giant trash bags, so that I cannot even tell what they are. It’s now as if I own almost nothing. I am no longer a friend to the temptations of acquisition. Less is more, because it means fewer bedbugs and less hassle for me.

I’ll admit that I have felt a bit like Job with this bedbug business. Why me, God? I didn’t do anything (seriously) wrong!

Much like Job’s protests, mine haven’t done anything to change my circumstances. Life happens, and it’s up to us to figure out how to deal with it. For now, apparently the best course of action is to downsize.

(P.S. Out of sheer curiosity, I did check for Biblical and Buddhist references to bedbugs and found none (although a host of other insects, including white ants, do crawl into certain verses). But I did find this interesting commentary on whether or not Buddhists are permitted to kill bedbugs. The post also explores some interesting thoughts on what it means to be reborn as a bedbug. Wow.)

Two for Three

This year, my son is enrolled in what used to be called “CCD.” This stands for “Confraternity of Christian Doctrine.” Sounds like an uptight brotherhood, a club of sorts,where people wear sweaters with Greek letters–but it’s not. It’s a program run by every parish for Catholic kids who are not in Catholic school, so they can get their dose of religion classes one night each week. In the modern Church, it’s called “faith formation.” The process is low-key until preparations for a sacrament are due. This happens in second grade–my son’s case–to get ready for first communion. My son calls the class “religulous ed.” He knows nothing about Bill Maher’s current movie.

Religious ed is not a bad process, but I don’t think that Jesus would appreciate the less than charitable behavior prompted by my family’s getting to religious ed. Our mad dash out the door is a process akin to making sausage. We’re all stuffed in the car by the time it’s done, but it’s ugly to watch. Better Boy routinely tries to skip out on brushing his teeth and gets in trouble when he fails the old-fashioned minty-fresh breath-test. When Better Girl forgets to bring her brush, Better Dad roars in frustration as he drives back up the driveway so the brush can be retrieved to avert Better Girl’s inevitable meltdown at the prospect of appearing in public with unbrushed wet hair. Better Boy gets frustrated when Better Mom notices a big toothpaste stain on the sleeve of his shirt and says, “Told you I shouldn’t brush my teeth. It’s your fault, Mama.” Sweet Jesus.

For families made of more traditional stuff, religious ed is a wonderfully bonding experience, chock-full of goodwill and positive parent-child role-modeling. For our family, it is comparable to a hazing process–something that you have to get through in order to move to the next level. I am obsessed about getting there on time because the coordinator might know that we truly are slacker Catholoics. God forbid that anyone but God should see our family faults.

A religious ed side-effect for me has been more thinking about faith in general, and about my particular form of faith. I have for some time been quite open about my own form of Catholicism, which involves frequent invocation of “conscience.” Admittedly, I am an a la carte Catholic, employing the doctrine of “take what you like and leave the rest.” I have read the Church’s encyclicals on birth control and abortion, and I do not entirely agree. I know that I am supposed to go to confession (“reconciliation” in Vatican II lingo) every month or so, but I would much prefer a batch process like Yom Kippur, the “Day of Atonement” for Jews. Seems so much more efficient.

At the same time as practicing a Catholicism lite, I do engage in aspects of the faith that are considered more devout. Every year I make a trip to an abbey in a nearby state where Thomas Merton lived, with a community of monks who live with God alone, in silence. I stay there for several days and go to several prayer services a day that involve chanting the liturgy. I am also a big believer in the social justice part of the Church’s role and donate time and money to issues around housing and homelessness.

Probably the biggest revelation for me from my kids’ religious ed process has been a deeper understanding of my own faith. This is not the same thing as a wholesale buy-in of everything my chosen RELIGION espouses. I have a brain and can make my own decisions. My faith understanding is that Christ, and all recognized spiritual leaders, want us to question. Asking questions brings about more understanding. Teaching kids about faith does that, too. My daughter is 12 now, and she does need to learn about the benefits of confession. It’s not an easy thing to explain, and I am not sure I’m the best person to break it down.

The Trinity is also a puzzle to me. I have decided that I’m good with two-thirds of it: the Holy Spirit and Son parts. People use all sorts of words to describe the Holy Spirit that are pretty esoteric. To me, the Holy Spirit is the feeling you get when you’re in a group of people and everyone’s all on the same page, in a positive way. I have felt it at church during prayer or songs, during active conversations among friends, and at sporting events. To me, the Holy Spirit is the energy and sensation that are palpable when good things are happening to connect so many individuals together.

The Son signifies seeing God in the people around me, as individuals. This is pretty evident to me, like when I see my kids being good to each other, or clients who are generous or particularly grateful. The reverse is also true, and again I have no further to look than my kids–or clients. But I see the dark side less often than the light.

I am by nature mistrustful of father figures, so the Father part of the Trinity is something I’m not ready for just yet. Maybe someday. For right now, I am two for three and staying put.