Chapter 96: Bardo, An Ant, and an Elephant
Last week, I was able to have dinner with one of my greatest friends. In this pandemic, these rare moments of safe social connection are so precious. During dinner, we were talking a bit about my next project. I confessed that I am trying to start a second book and am having difficulty with the enormity of the task. She then said, “How does an ant eat an elephant?”
Now, apparently, I am the only person clueless enough to have never heard this phrase before, because everyone else I’ve asked has heard this a million times. So, the answer is likely obvious to you even though it wasn’t to me. I simply looked at her with concern. I mean, I love elephants. I want nothing to do with eating them. This was curious.
“How does an ant eat an elephant?” She told me, “Bite by bite.”
Ahh. Bite by bite. It’s a joke. OK, phew! No real elephants in danger here. I was both relieved and inspired.
This joke/deep wisdom has stuck with me throughout the week. I literally cannot stop thinking about this statement. It is such a powerful reminder to give yourself grace, to take time, to feel that success can happen in small ways. Bite by bite. This concept has allowed me to give myself compassion to accomplish small items on my very overwhelming list each day.
Every day this week, I’ve woken up with the same thoughts: “Shit, I didn’t write a blog yesterday. I didn’t get my bike ride in. I didn’t help my patients as much as I wanted to. I didn’t respond to all my emails. I’m a failure.”
But then, this silly little phrase kept popping into my head and I felt better. The metaphorical elephant is still largely untouched. Ok, my intense 60-minute Peloton bike ride never happened. But I did have time for a 10-minute yoga class, so I’ll call that a very small, very successful bite. Maybe I didn’t have enough time with my new patient to fully fix her depression, but I had enough time to offer a few suggestions which left her feeling encouraged and perhaps even optimistic that hope was ahead. Small, successful bite. I didn’t respond to all of my emails, but I did open a few. Small, successful ant-sized bites.
I took a bite. And another bite. And another. I gave myself grace. A few bites filled me up.
The irony is that once I finally gave myself some grace. Once I decided that the 10-minute yoga class and the few emails were enough, I found myself feeling so at peace that I opened an email from my non-work account which I rarely give myself time to look at. This email was from Shambala Publications and included a short video of a recent teaching Pema Chodron gave on the concept of Bardo.
In the Buddhist philosophy, Bardo is a concept which describes the state between death and our next birth. Now, this concept is challenging to grasp, even for someone who practices Buddhism. But in this video, Chodron helped put this big, scary concept of the Bardo into more manageable terms.
Some of you might be tempted to stop reading here. Ok, this gal has lost it. She started with an interesting and slightly funny reference to a punchline that anyone with common sense would know, and now she wants me to read about an obscure Buddhist concept of the afterlife? Count me the heck out.
You’re right, I do want to do this, and it is a bit crazy, but I think the silly ant elephant metaphor and bardo are similar concepts taught in two extremely different ways. My task today is to distill them down to their most basic elements and show you what I see when I dive into the philosophy of impermanence, of things constantly dying and being reborn in every second of every day. To me, this constant state of bardo, this state of changing moment to moment is inspiring instead of scary.
No matter what your spiritual beliefs are, bear with me. You don’t need to believe in rebirth or heaven or hell or reincarnation or anything to understand this concept. Bardo is something which is happening every day, all the time. Every little moment of our life is impermanent. Each moment ends and, in a sense, the person we were in that moment ends with it. Then a new moment starts, and we are reborn into that moment as a new version of ourselves.
The ant can’t eat the whole elephant at one time. It is impossible. In each moment, the ant takes one small bite which changes both the ant and the elephant. After each bite, the ant is a different ant than it was pre-bite, as is the elephant.
In simpler, more graspable terms, I look at it like this: I am the ant. Life, work, cancer: these are the elephants. Yesterday, I started the day drinking coffee with my fiancé while answering work emails. In this moment, I did not know what my day in clinic would bring. I was a version of myself that lasted a few peaceful moments.
Once I walked into clinic, a new version of me took over. I was a primary care doctor, looking ahead at a fully packed schedule of patients needing my help. Peaceful coffee moments on the couch seemed like a lifetime ago. As my clinic day progressed, each time I met a new patient, a slightly different version of me emerged. In a sense, one version of me ended after each patient encounter as there is no way to be unchanged after learning about a person’s inner most emotions, challenges, and fears. Each encounter changed me. Before each patient encounter, I was one Courtney. After each, another Courtney, filled with new knowledge, new experience, new goals. This is Bardo.
I spent my day as a busy physician ant. Each patient encounter, each bite, changed me. The me I was when I woke up yesterday morning was dead and a new me was born- one with different questions, different answers, different perspectives. Not only was I changed, so was my metaphorical elephant. My life, my work, these changed as I changed. There is simply no way for things to stay the same. Nothing is permanent. Everything is constantly changing, constantly dying and being reborn, constantly shifting the balance of the ant and the elephant.
When I woke up this morning, I still had those same thoughts: “Oh, damn! I didn’t write a blog. I didn’t answer all my emails. I didn’t fix my patient’s depression.” But then, I remembered: bite by bite. I gave up on my elephant-sized goals and took the smallest bite I could: I did another 10-minute yoga class and felt renewed. The me I was when I woke up had changed, had died and was reborn into a calmer version of myself. Bardo. I felt energized and refreshed, so much so that I decided to spend thirty minutes writing. The morning me was gone, the yogi me was gone, and a new me was born again. The first thoughts of the morning felt like a lifetime ago. Each activity, each new thought was the essence of bardo.
In small bites, we change. My daunting list still looms ahead, but that’s ok. Bite by bite. Each decision, each small victory changes me. I experience bardo with each bite. The version of me writing this blog will be gone in an instant. Each experience, no matter how small, changes the way I experience life. Constant dying and rebirth. Constant learning and unlearning, growing, and changing.
Living with incurable cancer. Phew- that sounds daunting. That sounds like an elephant of a problem, and I feel like a small little ant. There is no way I can even start to comprehend how I am going to metaphorically eat the giant elephant of cancer staring at me, just a tiny terrified little ant.
But then I take a bite (a very metaphorical bite because elephants are magical, beautiful beings I never want anyone to take a bite of). I take a bite and I am changed. Not only am I changed, but the cancer elephant is changed too.
I finish a day at work. I go to sleep with new knowledge. I wake up this morning with a new perspective. My elephant is still there, but it isn’t so scary anymore.
Fondly,
Courtney
© CB2021
Inspired by Pema Chodron’s online retreat, This Sacred Journey and by my friend Stephanie’s use of very helpful metaphors