An Ancient Parable
A parable I heard long ago has occupied my thoughts over the past few days. It's an ancient story, one that has been told in various forms, yet its relevance seems strikingly poignant in these times of confusion and anger.
In a bygone era, a teacher of Life and their pupil sought refuge under a tree as they needed shelter from the mid-day sun's relentless blaze. They sipped some tea, undisturbed even by the persistent desert flies. The teacher was tranquil and calm. The student, not so much.
After a brief rest, the master, perceptive and attuned, inquired about the unease lurking within the student. Initial denials of "nothing" soon gave way to a heartfelt admission.
The student confessed their desire to act in a manner that would harm another. This decision, they believed, was justified—fuelled by the conviction that they had been wronged and thus deserved to inflict harm.
The sagely teacher, with wisdom and insight, surprisingly encouraged the student to proceed with this act of retribution. After all, it seemed only fair and just.
However, before the student could take any action, the master posed a simple task: the student was to break a branch from the tree under which they sat. The task was done with ease, leaving the student holding the broken branch with a puzzled look on their face.
In the ensuing silence, heavy with unspoken lessons, the master watched as confusion grew upon the pupil's face.
Then, with a tone of finality, the master instructed the student to return the branch to the tree, thus restoring it to its former unbroken state.
The impossibility of the request was not lost on the student, who, after moments of contemplative silence, understood the profound lesson: some actions, once done, cannot be undone. Their desire to inflict harm dissipated, replaced by the calm wisdom imparted by their teacher's guiding heart.
On recognizing that Heaven and Hell often depend on a person's internal state, e.g., where in the universe they are placing their attention, a subtle and beautiful freedom can begin to grow. Upon having the recognition that the student had, a person can learn to travel through this world in a state of Ahimsa, which is the spiritual practice of doing no harm to others or to oneself.
It is easy to externalize this practice in rites and rituals that may have originated in deep awareness of purpose but can become simply rote rituals devoid of any true meaning and depth. With sufficient funds and talent, a person’s entire life can be organized and aimed at creating an external facsimile of peace. The perfect house, car, spouse, garden, art, and a thousand other details can be acquired and brought into near-perfect harmony. One can go to so many yoga classes or spend hours sweating at a gym that a near-perfect body is achieved.
But the “near” is the problem. As Rumi wrote: “Every wonderful sight will vanish, every sweet word will fade.” Every perfect body will deteriorate, every great act will be forgotten. Even in the creation of art, be it visual, auditory, tactile, or mental, time will eventually take it all down. We know of and remember only a tiny smattering of the works of the past. The most famous ones may be in memory for hundreds of years, perhaps even thousands. But eventually, they will be entropized into non-existence.
Depressing, isn’t it?
Or is it?
The Story of Heartfeather
I woke from a deep sleep one night many years ago. The word “Heartfeather” was the only part of the dream I could recall. With the surfacing into conscious awareness of that word came the distant remembrance of the story from The Book of the Dead of the final judgment upon a soul after death.
In ancient Egypt, Ma’at was the goddess of truth, justice, harmony, and balance. She was depicted often with wings on each arm, and a large ostrich feather on her head. In the state after death, the newly deceased would be judged by Anubis, the jackal-headed god of the afterlife. He would place the heart of the deceased on his side of the scale. On the other side, Ma’at would place her feather.
If the deceased had lived a virtuous life and was free of guilt and shame, their heart would either be the same weight as the feather or lighter than it. If not, their heart would be heavier than the feather, and they could not continue their journey into the afterlife.
Even though the title is “The Book of the Dead, it is also a valuable guide for those of us still living. Now, most everyone sees the story of Anubis and Ma’at as mythological, but the symbology of it is beautiful. We still need to do some work in order to meet our death with no regrets or guilt. In doing so, the experience of every moment of every day will be enriched. Old wounds and actions out of harmony must be forgiven. This includes injuries done by others to you, by you to others, and, most challenging, by yourself toward yourself.
I started Heartfeather with the goal of helping people on the journey to that by helping people live their lives while having the direct experience of forgiveness and letting go that is so possible with deep personal work and when needed, the guidance and help of our dear plant medicines. And, as the young hero of the story where this journey started, may we learn to live lives where no forgiveness is necessary, and no remorse or guilt is carried.
Thank you for joining me on this journey.