Attachments are, quite simply, the things we cling to in an attempt to fill ourselves up. We can be attached to things, to relationships, to career or position, to money, to pets, to people, to a particular lifestyle, to how we see ourselves, to how we see the world, to ideological positions, to thoughts, feelings, beliefs, etc.
On my journey, I discovered that I was attached to Buddha. How ironic . . . . I was attached to the very Prince of Non-Attachment.
Or, more accurately, I was attached to my rather sizable collection of Buddhas, of which I was quite proud. I had a beautiful large garden Buddha that sat outside under a special tree surrounded by ornamental grasses, a Thai Buddha in a beautiful black lacquer holder, a small carved stone Buddha that was a particular favorite, a large Buddha made from a deep red resin (another favorite), a sitting Buddha fountain, a black Buddha candle holder, a carved Buddha head, and more.
I had at least one Buddha in every room of my house. Some rooms had more than one. Some were displayed on shelves or tables or on altars with candles, incense, silk table coverings. Some had been gifts, some I collected myself. All meant something special to me.
When someone suggested I might consider letting go of my Buddhas, the idea of getting rid of them struck me as unthinkable.
Something I wasn’t even willing to consider.
Then I considered it.
And just as quickly dismissed it as ridiculous.
And then considered it again.
This went on until — overcoming great resistance to even look into what it brought up for me — I was finally willing to consider what giving up my Buddhas would mean to me.
What I discovered, which required some deep work and being very honest with myself, was that I was deeply attached to my Buddhas. My attachment filled three important roles in my life, two of which were embarrassing and one of which was a revelation.
First, I had to see that a big part of why I had Buddhas all over my house was to broadcast what a spiritual person I was – to myself and to others. It was a beautiful collection and people often commented on it, but it was there to tell a story about me. I was attached to an image of myself — of how I wanted to see myself and also how I wanted others to see me. I had Buddhas everywhere so I could feel like a spiritual person, appear to be a spiritual person. Which of course are both very different from actually being a spiritual person. Not to mention that I wasn’t even a Buddhist.
The next attachment that revealed itself (which was even more embarrassing and actually quite painful to acknowledge) was that my Buddhas kept me company. I live alone and have lived alone most of my adult life. I make a lot of efforts to not feel lonely and not let myself feel my loneliness. It turned out that these statues, which I honored as the image of a great being, helped me feel less alone. This seemed sad and pathetic to me when I realized these statues were sort of my friends, and I was ashamed, but I also knew in that moment that it was true. I felt them as a comforting presence in my home that made me feel less alone. Until I contemplated giving them up, I had absolutely no idea that this dynamic was in play.
The third role the Buddhas played in my life was as a centering, calming, connecting influence. If I sat quietly and/or meditated in front of one of the Buddhas it helped me slow down, breathe deep and connect to something higher.
The night I was diagnosed with breast cancer, after my initial panic and terror, after all the phone calls were made and friends had left, I lit the candle in the lap of my favorite small stone Buddha and sat quietly in my living room, breathing in and out slowly, connecting to the calming spirit of Buddha, calming and centering myself in the process, bringing myself present again and to refrain from projecting terrible outcomes. I credited Buddha with getting me through that night.
Years later, as I was contemplating getting rid of my Buddhas, I was reminded of a story I learned in Sunday school. Abraham’s father made clay idols. One day, when Abraham was minding his father’s shop, he took a club and smashed all the idols except for the largest one, in whose hand he put the club. When his father saw the wreckage, he demanded to know what happened. Abraham told his father that the largest idol in the shop had smashed all the smaller idols. His father responded that that was ridiculous; the idols had no power to do anything, to which Abraham responded, “Exactly!”
Exactly.
Buddha, of course, did not get me through my bad night. I got myself through that night and projected the power onto Buddha. Actually onto a little stone statue, an idol really. Just as every time I sat in meditation, I projected that grounded, centered space I could reach onto the statue I was sitting in front of. That is what attachments do. They take the place of our own relationship with ourselves and project and externalize it.They fill up the empty and disconnected places inside of us so we don’t have to feel them.
My attachment to my Buddhas filled me up in three ways: they made me feel “spiritual;” they kept me “company” so I didn’t have to feel how it felt to be alone; and they gave me an object to externalize (project) my connection to my inner self onto so I didn’t have to experience the discomfort and responsibility of taking ownership of it myself.
Letting go of my Buddhas – each and every one of them — was a profound experience for me. In letting go of the attachment, I took back parts of myself I had given away. Holding on to an external symbol of being spiritual, how would I have ever known where I actually was on my spiritual journey? Attached to inanimate objects that buffered my feeling of being alone, how would I have discovered how to fully be with myself? And how could I ever be grounded in my own higher self if I was projecting that part of me onto a statue? Indeed, projecting that connection onto Buddha actually took me out of myself, though I believed it did the opposite.
The idea of giving up my Buddhas started out as unthinkable. This is the nature of attachments. We believe we will be less or lost or empty without them. But the exact opposite is true. By letting go of attachments, we find ourselves.