A man raised a baby swan in a glass jar, but as the bird grew it became stuck in the jar. The man was caught now, for the only way to free the thing was to break the jar, killing the swan. - Zen Saying
This parable speaks powerfully to the clear containments we set about the ones we love, never imagining that who and what we love grows. What we set up as parameters, out of fear or arrogance or even out of the best intentions of protection, can suffocate the very thing we hold precious.
Even more devastating and subtle are the ways in which we jar ourselves. If our mind is the man raising the baby bird, then the swan is our heart. Too often, in an effort to protect ourselves from being hurt, we place our soft and growing heart in a clear jar of distrust, never dreaming that the heart continues, like the baby swan, to grow. Too often, we contain our way of being within our way of surviving.
This is how we can wall in our hearts over time. And even the most unassuming and cautious of beings can find themselves having to break their hearts – their way of feeling in the world – in order to free themselves of their hardened clear resolve.
But many of us simply live within the hardness, if we can call such a constraint living. With such suffocation of heart in mind, Rachel Naomi Remen wisely asks, “Is it possible to live so defensively that you never get to live at all?” At the heart of her question and this little Zen story is the difference between surviving and thriving, between existing and living, between resignation and joy.
As human beings, our distrust builds a hardened resolve over our innocence, the way that silver tarnishes when exposed to air. Only the quiet, daily courage to be can let the air soften our hearts again.
Mark Nepo
I think we all have done this to ourselves in our lives, put our heart in a jar. It seemed to be a natural thing to do, an instinct to survive after getting hurt or to avoid getting hurt. I never realized it had a cost though.
At first you feel relieved and your courage seems to grow. But then the cost starts to be exposed. You are safe in the jar but you can’t touch anything and nothing can touch you while you are protected in there. Without touch you cannot feel. You may have wanted to stop yourself from feeling the bad feelings of sadness and pain. But now you can’t feel the good feelings either since you are protecting yourself from allowing someone to try and touch your heart.
And that is how it starts; you have contained your way of being. You become an image of yourself looking out at the world through the glass. The glass is meant to protect you. But it also affects your vision of the world and those living in it which so easily can become unclear and hazy now when the glass becomes dirty.
You slowing begin to change without realizing it. And as Mark says so effectively, you begin to survive at the cost of thriving, exist at the cost of living and give into resignation instead of seeking joy again.
It does become possible to live so defensively that you never get to live at all. You now live in the protection you have built but it is a life of constraint and isolation. And without realizing it you have broken your own heart. You stopped the way you felt in the world, that unique way only you can.
Protection’s warrior was clear resolve. And that resolve took the innocence of my life. It armed me with distrust. And with distrust as my armor I became tarnished over time because I was just surviving, existing and gave into resignation.
But today I realized if I stay in the jar, I am stuck in here with only my past as my life’s companion. As long as I stay in here there is no change, no new memories and no chance of new love. And as much as I cherish the past memories and feelings I don’t want that to be all that I have to look back on after living the rest of my life. That is too high of a cost.
Awareness is the hammer that broke the jar. And now I hope I can find the daily courage to be unprotected again. Find a way to mend a broken heart, a heart that I had to break to love again.
Until next time,
Christy
