The Two Darts
Have you ever been strolling through the forest and gotten hit by a random arrow? I’m guessing not, but the Buddha once used this scenario to deliver a rather brilliant bit of wisdom about the problem of pain. Stray arrows are not such a big problem these days—it’s more likely you’ll get caught by a stray bullet, a car accident, or an out-of-the-blue diagnosis of cancer. His point was that random shit happens. We’re just happily going along and bam, something terrible happens.
But what happens next is what interested him. Because what we normally do as humans is to tumble into a deep well of reactive emotions and stories. We fall into self-pity, blame, regret, or plans for revenge. We want to sue the doctor, demand a return to our previous life, or be restored to perfect health. The Buddha called this tendency, “the second dart.” The first arrow (the uncontrollable thing) we can do nothing about. But the second one, the second wound, is entirely self-manufactured, it’s the pain that we make in response to the pain. The second dart is avoidable.
He’s doesn’t suggest stoicism. The Buddha’s advice for dealing with pain is to be fully in it. To create space for it. To stop trying to avoid it. That’s what all our story-telling is about: trying to negotiate unsuccessfully with reality. And his first teaching, the first truth, is that by virtue of being alive and aware, you’re going to have pain from time to time.
We can extrapolate this out from the body to all the other layers that make up our existence: emotions, thinking, relationships, cultures and ideas about meaning and spirituality. There’s a lot of pain. I can only speak for myself, but as a lifelong nature-lover and environmentalist watching the province destroy so many hard-won protections for the environment this year was soul-destroying. Seeing conspiracy theories show up in my YouTube feed and in people I know and care for—painful! Seeing people driving around with confederate flags on local roads—nauseating! And more painful because I have had to let go of a viewpoint that I was very attached to: that people are better than this, wiser than this, more evolved than this. There’s nothing like watching a cherished viewpoint go up in flames. But viewpoints are ideas, that is all. Clinging to them is part of the second dart.
But hopelessness and nihilism is a dead end and a trap. Not wisdom.
At the end of November I escaped for a silent retreat with a teacher I’ve followed for a while. It was in French, so I had to concentrate really hard, but I did get the chance to ask him a question. He answered in English, because I told him I only understood about eighty percent of what he was saying. He reassured me that twenty percent of what he said was irrelevant. (I do love a good sense of humor).
My question was: How do I feel the pain of all this turmoil without being completely overwhelmed and despondent? He gave me a three-part answer:
Befriend the pain, because it’s a sign of health to be distressed by the world AND do things for yourself that are nurturing
Find support. Find other people who really care about the issues you care about—who are willing to witness and acknowledge what is happening. And
Do something! Be as creative and as outlandish as you can be. The point of all of this practice and caring is to act.
So far I’ve made peace with the first instruction, and I’m working on the second one (which is proving more difficult and will take more time). As far as number three, well I think finding support would be a huge help. I’ve got more ideas than I have courage, and I’d be willing to do more if I had partners in crime (by which I mean awareness-raising, defending democracy and so on). But anyway, working with the second dart takes time, practice, and mistakes, and friends. I’m doing my best, and I know that you are too.
May your pain be lessened by knowing that you aren’t alone in it.
Much love,
Elaine
