Maybe … Maybe Not || By Beth Hinnen, Certified Mindfulness and Meditation Teacher
There is a wonderful Buddhist story, maybe Zen, maybe not, about a man, his son, and a horse. It goes something like this: Once upon a time, before there were cars and the internet, there was a man, his son, and a horse. One day, the horse ran away, and all the villagers came by the man’s house and lamented. “You poor man. You and your son have lost your horse. This is a terrible ordeal.” The man listened and replied, “Maybe … maybe not.” And after a week or so, the horse returned with six or seven wild horses who appeared to be happy to stay and be fed, watered, and live a domestic lifestyle. The villagers once again stopped by the man’s house and exclaimed, “You lucky man! Your horse has returned and brought you wealth in more horses. How fortunate you are!” And once again, the man replied, “Maybe … maybe not.”
The next month, the son was training one of the new horses to be ridden and got thrown which resulted in a broken leg. And like clockwork, the villagers showed up at the man’s house and lamented, “Oh my, how unlucky! Your son has a broken leg and can not work or help with the chores. This is terrible, indeed!” And true to form, the man listened patiently, then replied, “Maybe … maybe not.” While the son was recovering, the neighboring country declared war, and the local militia began going around to the villages and conscripting young men to be soldiers. The militia got to the man’s house and saw the son with a broken leg and left him behind. And yes, you guessed it, the villagers returned, oohing and cooing over the luck of the man, and told him so. “How fortunate your son had a broken leg. Now he will not go to war and die. You are so blessed.” And the man said, “Maybe … maybe not.”
This story could go on and on (and in fact, it might). However, maybe you’ve heard enough to find some resonance with your own life, or even the life of someone you know, where at a certain point, when it looked like the most awful thing had happened, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I’ve read stories, over and over again, about cancer survivors being grateful for their illness, or someone being fired from a job and turning to their passion for a career. And while this is not true all the time, we can, I suspect, look back at a previous event when we believed it would turn out one way only to end up being surprised, perhaps even shocked that it turned out completely and totally different. The perfect job turns into a nightmare; the perfect partner turns out to be a narcissist; the perfect house ends up being a financial sinkhole.
Or, it works the other way. The illness we didn’t see coming opens our eyes to the stress and unhealthy habits in our lives, which inspires us to wipe the slate clean and find a new and invigorated sense of living with purpose and joy. Or we reluctantly go to a gathering where we meet someone who rocks our world, whether spiritually, mentally or emotionally, and our very path in life changes. Of course, this ties into a blog I wrote in November, 2016, titled “Anything Can Happen.” I went to bed sure Hillary Clinton would be elected and woke up to Trump as President. It was actually the event that prodded me into following politics, or more accurately, current events and their impact on life as I knew it. Indeed, Trump helped me to wake up, to see that I was living in a bubble of ignorance, oblivious to how anyone outside of my social and economic sphere experienced the world.
And since then, I’ve put more time and effort into reading all sides of issues. Because, I have begun to suspect — no one has 100% of the truth. It seems to me there are kernels of truth on both sides and the rest of any story is a conglomeration of opinions about the truth. Perhaps this is why I truly appreciate Buddhism. After the Buddha awakened to reality, he did not want people to follow him on blind belief (faith is something different). Instead, he offered, don’t believe me, do it yourself and come to your own realization. He encouraged people to have their own awakening, and not take it for granted that it could be done. He did not want sycophants, he wanted practitioners. He did not want power, he wanted to empower. Just talking about what is possible, isn’t the same as practicing what is possible. I have the sense the Buddha wanted people to discover their own competency … curiosity … resiliency … and capacity for experiencing life just as it is, without losing their minds … or their hearts.
Which is how I envision the man in the opening story experienced life. He understood impermanence, that nothing lasts, not the horse, the horses, his son’s health, the impending war. (For more on this, see my blog, The Enlightenment of Binge-Watching.) He knew that life ebbs and flows, and thus was able to respond to the villagers with, maybe … maybe not. He did not cling to advantageous situations, nor did he push away painful ones. He merely kept his mind and heart open to whatever would come next. While the villagers kept telling him he was either fortunate or unfortunate (their own opinions about what happened), the man did not concede to their take. He kept to his own internal compass, his own sense of well-being, that come what may, he would be able to respond to it in a skillful and compassionate manner.
Of course, there is much left out in this story. I like to imagine the man felt joy with the extra horses, and sorrow at his son’s accident; that he owned his feelings and didn’t spiritually by-pass with “maybe … maybe not.” I like to hold that his quippy saying was more in response to neighbors who did not have good boundaries and who felt impelled to tell him how he should feel about the events in his life. I project upon this man a steadfastness to embrace what mattered most, a clear mind and heart that kept him poised to pivot in whatever direction the outward circumstances might point him toward. And above all, that he was kind to his neighbors, with his humble answer, both agreeing and disagreeing without making it personal.
So quite serendipitously, I recently came across an article about, Under the Wave off Kanagawa, from Katsushika Hokusai’s series Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji. It is a huge, blue-white wave, with tremendous claw-like water fingers curling down from the top, as two small Japanese row boats with men gaze up at it (the point of view as observers is also gazing up). The scene looks more like a mountain range in full upheaval. And yet, far beyond this graphic catastrophe happening in the foreground, is the solid, still portrait of Mt. Fuji.
This is what I feel is meant by nirvana. Translated into English words as varied as “paradise” and “emptiness,” it’s most literal translation is “to be blown out … extinguished.” And that makes sense. Once the cravings and aversions, doubts, anxieties and torpor of mind (what the Buddha called hindrances) are blown out, extinguished, what then is available to be experienced? What might we feel? Could it be the equanimity shown by the man in the story with his refusal to leap to conclusions? Could it be the openness of heart he met each joy and sorrow without grasping or pushing it away? Even more so, is it how the men are approaching the wave in the drawing, head on, with no indication of frantic rowing or cowering? Are the men feeling steadfast, strong and courageous, and do they feel what I as an observer feel, a smattering of awe and curiosity? Do they see Mt. Fuji in the distance, very clear with a sense of resolute eternalness … beauty … a refuge waiting, always available, silent and patient, far from the chaos?
Perhaps nirvana isn’t this pie in the sky, high fallutin’ concept. Maybe it is simply not being buffeted by the onslaught of other people’s opinions and views and instead, knowing in your heart that you have the strength and courage to face the wave. Just for fun, how would it feel to face the biggest belief you have right now and say, maybe … maybe not?
About the Author: Beth Hinnen came to the spiritual path from the corporate world. After experiencing impermanence and greed, she left to study Yoga and has over 1,000 hours in Yoga teacher training, and ended up specializing in the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, spiritual scripture that closely aligns with Buddhism. From there, she studied Zen Buddhism for over ten years, including in-person, month-long monastic retreats, until she earned certification, in January, 2023, as a Mindfulness and Meditation Teacher with Jack Kornfield and Tara Brach. Currently, Beth is a co-leader of the IMCD Council, and on the Teachers Collective, as administrator. She hosts a Meetup group called Yoga Meets Buddhism, and for the past three years, has held an online Dharma Wednesdays class that discusses the Yoga Sutras while also bringing in Buddhist teachings, along with Sufi poets, Christianity, Judaism and other spiritual paths that reinforce the words of Sri Swami Satchidananda, the founder of Integral Yoga where Beth studied. “The truth is one, the paths are many.” More information about Beth is at www.samayaco.org.
