If You're Going to Sweep Give it Everything You've Got
How to be mindful when you don't think you are
It’s been quite a gnarly thing: having my nice, slow, meditative mornings and then finding myself at school, less panicked than I was before I started the practice (before, afew years ago, even the journey to work was awful, whereas now, I relish every minute). Still, when I arrive, there’s often that knot in the stomach that kicks in as I get my laptop out to prepare for the day, a feeling of impending catastrophe, like constantly dreaming you are naked among the clothed, and have somehow forgotten to dress yourself. It’s all very well being super-Zen in the comfort of the car, but what about when the proverbial hits the fan and you’re tested? On more days than I can count, I have said goodbye to peace the moment I walked into school, and only managed to re-connect with it when I get back into the car again to drive home. I try to do 2 minute meditations there where I can between lessons, but this often doesn’t happen at all, and even when it does, all I feel is an awareness of some form of pain, mental and/or physical. And it would need considerably longer than two minutes to dispel tension like that. My whole body often feels horrible—knots of panic everywhere.
But the other day I was listening to a talk given recently by the British-born Theravada monk Ajahn Brahm, where he reminded me of an Ajahn Chah story (the late Ajahn Chah was his teacher in Thailand). An Australian man had come to see Chah in the remote Ubon province of Thailand. It was a long journey, and the man could not stay long. It was also quite crowded at the monastery, and Chah was very busy teaching his monks. The man had only a few hours there, and didn’t get remotely close to Chah. Disappointed not to have spoken to the famous teacher, he left the main building and went to an outer courtyard, to wait for the taxi that would take him to the airport. He had a couple of hours to kill and thought he would spend them doing something helpful to the monks who lived there. The monastery was impeccably neat, and he noticed monks sweeping the courtyard, so he decided to join in, and grabbed a broom. As he was sweeping, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned round to discover that it was Ajahn Chah, who smiled and said to him ‘If you’re going to sweep, give it everything you’ve got.’ Very, very simple, and a teaching I had heard before, but like many of the best teachings, it can take a lifetime to really assimilate.
Ajahn Brahm used it on this occasion to counsel someone who felt they were burdened by work and couldn’t be mindful while they were working. And yes, I thought, this is the answer: to set that intention again and again to be fully present with everything, to ‘do your best.’ It’s an empty truism for us much of the time, the kind of consolation prize advice we often give to kids who aren’t doing so well: ‘well, just do your best,’ meaning, quite often, ‘make some kind of half-hearted effort because it’s better than nothing at all.’
But it’s actually a very profound thing to really do your best, with ‘everything you’ve got.’ In truth, we are wise to remember that we don’t really know what our best is. We can’t quantify it. It’s pure being, not even, really, doing, because the ‘you,’ the fragile ego who might fail or mess up, is offline, and instead, you’re in flow. It’s a case of abandoning the ‘fruits of action,’ to mangle the Bhagavad Gita, and just being in or fully with the action or people. The difficult lesson. The stroppy colleague. The wired and overly rigid body. Every time you can, and compassionately. Also accepting your ‘failure’ to do this, and letting go as soon as possible. Knowing that each time you practice this, your brain re-wires a little bit, and that the tiniest moment of compassionate attention is significant. Or this is what I tell myself among the overwhelm of CAGS (Centre Assessed Grades) or after the rudeness of a troubled child. Never mind, never mind. If you’re going to sweep…Once again, then, from the top.