dung

you snap to consciousness, glance at the clock—4:30 a.m. -but it was not the tolling of the monastic bell which woke you: as your mind swims fully into consciousness you hear your dog scratching at your bedroom door and whimpering.

rising to let him outside into the brightening petals of the dawn, so reminiscent of the walk out towards the Sala for morning Pūja those mornings when your awareness of breathing was given a new, visual, aspect as your exhalations streamed about you as condensation, you resolve to put in an early sit in pleasant synchronicity to the Sangha.

 

your heart falls, and your resolve falters a little, when you finally herd the dog downstairs after chasing him round and over the bed, spinning as he goes, chasing his tail—hold on a minute: did he not wake you urgently a moment ago to go out?—resolve flickers and almost dies when you find the whimpering came a little too late as there’s a neat pile of dog dung lying in the hallway.

truthfully, you knew almost the moment you stepped out of the bedroom—the scent is propelled upwards by the heat of the dung, fresh from the dog’s body.

so after picking up, mopping up, bleaching up, rinsing up, when you finally peel off your rubber gloves, look out at the poor child with pathetic eyes now curled up in his kennel; feel the twinge of resentment melt away in instant of natural mettā, you can hear the voice of your preceptor saying: “it’s just the way it is”, and, “if you’re presented with unsatisfactory conditions, use them: use them as a reflection.”

Ajahn Brahm’s book title come’s to mind: Who ordered this truckload of dung?

So you go to sit and wonder at the potential for feeling gratitude for a dog dumping on your floor.

When life sends you shit, sit. OK maybe that needs a little work. (It’s a topic of discussion in our house whether ’shit’ equals a musāvāda and should be added to the swear-box list…) but the point’s there: even this can be used for reflection; all dhammas, if viewed correctly, lead you to realization of the three qualities of existence: dukkha (that one’s easy!), anicca, anatta: this thing, this object of reflection that life has dumped on your floor, is unsatisfactory, is impermanent, and has no permanent abiding self.

regarding the last, it can be easy to think: sure a steaming dog turd doesn’t have a self, but three minutes ago this faeces was part of an animal you know and love, was an integral part of him…

and as you cross your legs on the mat, you can feel the movement of the same matter within your intestines, as the natural process of peristalsis, of digestion, absorbtion and elimination continue.