Having just returned from taking out the trash, my partner sat down on the bed beside me. Nestled in the palm of his outstretched hand was a pair of earrings I had recently thrown away.
“I found these in the trash.” He smiled when he said it.
“Yeah…??” I answered, sensing that something bad was coming. I didn’t know what, but I could tell I’d done something wrong.
“Where did they come from?” He asked. My apprehension was growing. I knew I was walking into a trap, and couldn’t figure out how to avoid it.
I looked at the earrings. Earlier that week I noticed them in my jewelry box, where they lay buried for several months. Finally admitting to myself that I would never wear them, I casually tossed them in the trashcan.
“They came from my job,” I told him, now not so sure. “They were part of a prize I won in some contest at work.”
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An ominous silence hung in the air between us.
“No,” he said. “I gave them to you.”
Horror and confusion completely submerged me. I was knocked off balance by a rogue wave whose undertow was now taking my tumbling body out to sea. Was it possible I’d thrown away a present from him?
I stared at the earrings and tried to make sense of his words. I felt myself shrink away from the anger and recrimination I knew was coming.
He continued quietly, “I remember you were excited when I gave them to you. That made me feel good, but you never wore them. Looking at your jewelry now, I can tell they’re not your style.”
I was drowning in humiliation and fear, the weight of his calm words, like wet shoes, pulling me under.
“I see how you and your friends swap jewelry all the time. And it’s ok that you don’t like these. But instead of throwing them away, would you please find someone else to give them to?”
There was not a trace of criticism or harshness in his voice. He was relaxed.
Then I remembered. He’d brought the earrings back from a recent out-of town trip. I was as excited as a seven-year-old getting a t-shirt from her Dad’s business trip. Knowing my partner had been thinking of me while we were apart, I felt loved. I put the earrings in my jewelry box so I wouldn’t lose them. And promptly lost them there. Completely forgot about them, until the day I mistook them for something else and casually tossed them in the garbage.
It finally sunk in. I threw away his present and he found it in the trash. There was nothing I could say beyond “I’m sorry.”
Surely he thought I was ungrateful, self-centered and unworthy. But he accepted my apology and remained unruffled. After all these were simple facts, delivered without malice. How can one set of circumstances cause two such different responses? One of us must be crazy.
Circumstances, though, did not cause my reaction. Perceptions did. I perceived that I had done something unforgivable. I knew he was secretly mad. Suggesting I give away the earrings was his way of punishing me. Obviously his feelings were hurt and he didn’t want to admit it. Our relationship would never be the same. Because of my perceptions, I was ashamed and afraid.
After he left the room, I remained on the bed staring at the earrings, which he had deposited into my hand.
My mind raced, trying to make sense of colliding emotions. I felt disgraced thinking I hurt the feelings of my best friend, suspicious of his calm demeanor, humiliated at being punished, and embarrassed and ashamed of my thoughtlessness.
I swept the stories away and was left alone with shame. Shame sent a surge of acid into my stomach, and sat on my lungs so my breathing came in gasps. I ran to the bathroom to throw up. After several waves of dry heaves, I leaned against the tub. Mind and body now quiet, I saw the word thoughtless pop like a soap bubble over my head. A memory floated by in a second soap bubble.
Recently we’d attended a weekend retreat, where I’d been irritated by everything. People stomped loudly into the meditation hall. They carelessly tossed blankets and pillows into MY space. Would-be comedians interrupted the dharma talk with jokes nobody else laughed at. Others breathed and sneezed and coughed randomly, making me miss crucial points during the talk and undoubtedly setting back my progress towards enlightenment.
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How can people be so thoughtless? Why don’t they pay attention to what they’re doing? Suddenly it became clear.
There it was - people are thoughtless. Including me. I mindlessly tossed those earrings into the bowels of my cluttered jewelry box. Sure, I had meant to wear them. But every time I reached in to that tangled mass of beads and silver, I habitually grabbed the same things I always wore. I rarely even look to see what else is in there. I mindlessly tossed his precious gift in, and every day afterwards, unconsciously pulled out something else.
The fact is - sometimes I act thoughtlessly. As long as I disapprove of that, I’ll remain ashamed of myself and afraid I’ll be found out. And I’ll be outraged when I recognize that trait in others.
The instant I saw the projection, I realized that carelessness is innocent. Nobody is out to get me. We walk around like Mr. McGoo, oblivious to our surroundings.
But, deep in its confusion, my mind mistakenly tells me it’s better to be thoughtful than thoughtless. It can’t grasp that a considerate person is no better than his narcissistic neighbor.
Having dropped the weight of another small delusion along my path, I felt lighter. I was ascending once more towards heaven. Clarity was one step closer and life returned to normal.
Days went by without mention of the earrings, yet something lingered. In spite of all my revelations, self-discovery, and inquiry a nagging doubt remained. I sensed a shadowy presence where there ought only be light. Fear. Like Gollum, Fear was hiding in the dark recesses of my psyche. I saw his beady red eyes blink once before he slithered deeper into the caverns.
Gollum knows…I’m terrified that you don’t love me anymore. Gollum knows …I’ve spent my whole life hoping to be loved without ever asking for it or admitting that I need it.
For days I pretended to be grown up and sophisticated again. But I couldn’t get away from the sense that I was 5 years old and had carelessly broken my best friend’s heart. He would never play with me again. The adult could see quite clearly that was not the case. The five-year-old could not.
One day my partner lay on the bed, about to take a nap. I approached warily. I sat beside him in stark vulnerability, stripped of all cleverness, all desire for spiritual insight.
“I need something from you,” I whispered. “ The little girl in here feels like I’ve hurt my best buddy and I can’t stand it. Will you please forgive me?”
“Yes,” he answered immediately. And finally it was over. No more analysis. There was only the pure and present meeting of two hearts, one engulfed in white-hot pain, the other a still glacial lake in which to cool it.
In Consciousness there is no chance for the profound intimacy I discovered in that sweet moment of forgiveness. My ascendancy towards heaven must be completed back on earth. It’s here that I pursue my inner work, striving diligently for a certificate of clarity. Here on earth delusion will cause spasms of despair to course through my body till the day I die. But only here on earth can I reap the rewards of asking someone to love me. Only here can I snuggle up and take a nap with my sweetie.
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