Everybody, even the best of us, will sometimes behave ingloriously, and to think otherwise is to be hemmed in by vanity. As sad sinners wandering through samsara, one of the few things we can count on is that we are on occasion going to screw up miserably. For those of us who are exceptionally reliable in this regard, it is nothing less than a saving grace, is it not, that in our guise as bodhisattvas, falling down on the job is the biggest part of the job, and sometimes, somehow, failure, if allowed to do its work, can actually be surprisingly emancipatory. It can even help make us whole. We have to try to be better—wiser, kinder, more generous—people, but mostly there’s no getting away from our embarrassing, maddening, harebrained selves.
There’s a joke that is a good reminder of that. One day, in the middle of service, the rabbi calls out, “Oh Lord, I’m nothing, nothing. I’m nothing.” As the rabbi continues, the cantor joins in: “I’m nothing, oh Lord, nothing.” In the back of the synagogue, the shamus—something like a temple janitor—broom in hand, is so inspired by this display of humility before the Almighty that he too joins in: “I’m nuttin’, Lord, I’m nuttin’.” The rabbi looks up and eyes the shamus disapprovingly. He then turns to the cantor and says, “So look who says he’s nothing.”
While it’s true that spiritual aspiration is an inestimable good, sometimes there’s nothing better for the soul than falling flat on your face. You have to work with what you’ve got, and what you’ve got is who you are, and there’s no way around that.
