Whatever you can do or dream you can do, begin it.
Boldness has genius, power, and magic to it.
JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE
The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, and we all know that the first step can be the hardest. Joe Gorin, executive director of the Network in Solidarity with the People of Guatemala, said this of his start with Central America: “In 1980, a close North American friend of mine was killed in Guatemala, and I began to feel called to go there. I knew the suffering there was great and the awareness of it here was low. But I was getting my doctorate in psychology, and I didn’t have time for social action. Then I began to have this intensive urge to learn Spanish—I listened to tapes in the car and taught myself. But it wasn’t until 1987—seven years later—that I finally went.”
Whether it’s calling Oxfam America to see if they need our help or setting out those four brown bags to recycle the household trash, we’ve all had trouble with beginnings. Musicians say that the hardest part of practicing is taking the instrument out of the case. But as Jonathan Schell said when reflecting on how we could build a livable world now that we have nuclear weapons: “Every person is the right person to act. Every moment is the right moment to begin.” Take out that saxophone. Get the process going. Be bold. Take the first step. Make the leap. Act from your wild dream of a more loving, more just world.
Of course it is useful to be reflective at the beginning, to learn what we can about the situation at hand and to have a good sense of our own motivations, skills, talents, and passions, so that the first step is at least pointed in the right direction. But once we have a good sense of these things, too much rumination can keep us from getting into the process, which is where we will really learn. We do not want to take on more than we can do with clarity of mind and an open heart, but once we begin to awaken to the suffering of others and the interconnection that binds us, we know we have to do what we can to aid those who are hurting. Our understanding of the interlocking nature of all beings is not a subject for intellectual analysis; it is an imperative for action.
Many beginnings are scary, and we are afraid to take the first step. Think of all the frightening beginnings you have known: going to school on the first day, meeting your new stepfather, skiing downhill, eating tofu, stepping off a bus in Zagreb, making love, giving birth, getting divorced—whatever it has been for each of us, we all know those moments of hesitation that come from fear at the beginning. It is, of course, fear of the unknown, of how we will be changed in unidentifiable ways. A friend who was drawn to learn aikido went to watch a demonstration class at Kenai Sensei’s dojo in Cambridge. When the class was over, she walked through the city, feeling a single emotion in her whole body and mind. At first she couldn’t identify what it was; then she realized it was fear. Oh, she thought, I must be afraid that I can’t do it—that I won’t be able to do a forward roll, that I’ll be thrown too hard and break a bone, that I’ll fail. But that didn’t feel like the truth, and she began to realize that what she was afraid of was that she would be able to do it, that it would become a passion, and it would change her in ways that she couldn’t predict or understand. Once she recognized that terror for what it was, she turned around, went back to the dojo, and signed up.
Compassionate action does change us, and if you sense that at the beginning, you are right. Anything that we approach as a “path,” or a way of learning or opening, has power, and it can be frightening. But it also has attraction because the deeper part of ourselves wants to change, to open, to free ourselves from fear. So we embrace the opportunity. We step onto the mat.
A student in a New York Open Center course on compassion in action said that she was afraid of homeless people. “I guess because I have and they don’t. I had been giving them some clothes at night when I wouldn’t actually have to meet people, because I’ve been really afraid. And then this time I brought the coats during a mealtime and I said, ‘If you guys could use these …’ I was shaking, I was so scared. And they were so gracious.”
Working with the homeless, the poor, and others at the edge reminds us of our own vulnerability and the compromises we may have made in our lives to create material security. Working with AIDS or other terminally ill patients is frightening because it often reveals our fear of our own death. Working with international issues shows us the fragile balances in the world order and how close we always are to war and the abuse of nuclear power. Working with the environment reveals deep fears of losing the very ground beneath our feet and the air we breathe. But these fears are there, within us, anyhow. When they become more apparent, it is a gift. We can see them and work with them. In aikido and other martial arts, fear is considered a friend. It keeps you awake to what is there. If you are afraid, your mind will not stray, you will not fall asleep. When you want to improve a certain move, you choose a fiercer partner to keep your mind completely centered on the action. Although true freedom is an open state of fearlessness, while we are still afraid we can use fear to increase our awareness.
If raw fear is not holding us back, sometimes our need for control keeps us from acting. We hesitate to take the first step because we don’t know what the second, third, or fourth step will be. We feel that we need a perfect or at least a very well developed plan before we can go forward. On the contrary, such a plan is impossible to make—it is acting itself that teaches us how to act. As the situation changes, and we stay awake and aware, new possibilities for action reveal themselves. Flexibility, curiosity, and willingness to listen and learn are what we need for success in this work. It is often necessary to go forward not knowing what will happen, willing to let the way take shape. As Neem Karoli Baba once said, “You can plan for five hundred years, but you don’t know what will happen in the next moment.”
Of course, it is useful to set goals, as farmers do when they plant their corn and plan their harvests, but it is not until we get into the work that we find out about the richness of the soil, the amount of rainfall, the pests and plagues, and the styles and habits of the other farmers with whom we are working. From these factors, we learn gradually and idiosyncratically, and we adapt and readapt our ways. In Pedagogy of the Oppressed, his landmark work on literacy and the poor, Brazilian educator Paulo Freire said truth is revealed though a “dialogue with the world,” which includes soil, rain, and farmers. We need to begin the work in order to start experiencing reality as process, as transformation, rather than as a static entity. Spiritual teacher J. Krishnamurti said, “An ideal actually prevents direct action upon what is. To have peace, we will have to begin not to live an ideal life but to see things as they are and transform them.” We need to accept our plans as works in progress, commit ourselves to the task at hand, be open to change, give up our attachment to a certain set of results, and get started!
In the great Hindu myth the Ramayana, Hanuman was challenged to serve: Prince Rama asked him to leap across the ocean between India and Sri Lanka, carrying Rama’s gold ring and a message of love to the princess Sita, who was being held hostage by the evil, ten-headed Ravana. Hanuman, the “little monkey,” was not sure that he would be able to do it, and he had no idea what might await him on the other shore. He hesitated, thinking that maybe someone else would be better for the job. But, as the story goes, “there was dismay and faint sorrow, and it was time to be strong.” So Hanuman agreed to take the ring to Sita. He climbed to a high hilltop overlooking the vast ocean separating the two countries, and then, in the translation of William Buck,
he held his breath and sucked in his stomach. He frisked his tail and raised it a little on the end. He bent his knees and swung back his arms, and on one finger gleamed Rama’s gold ring. Then, without pausing to think, he drew in his neck, laid back his ears, and jumped.
It was grand! It was the greatest leap ever taken. The speed of Hanuman’s jump pulled blossoms and flowers into the air after him, and they fell like little stars on the waving treetops. The animals on the beach had never seen such a thing. They cheered Hanuman, then the air burned from his passage, and red clouds flamed over the sky, and Hanuman was far out of sight of land