The Amazing Grace of Failure

Success and failure may come and go, but there is a Source that is holding us far beyond any external happening.

THE AMAZING GRACE OF FAILURE

 

We know we’re starting to disidentify with the ego’s stronghold on our soul when we experience no difference between success and failure. No good, no bad. I’m sure many of you have read or heard the following Taoist parable in various forms:

We'll See
There is a Taoist story of an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit.
"Such bad luck," they said sympathetically.
"We'll see," the farmer replied.
The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses.
"How wonderful," the neighbors exclaimed.
We'll see," replied the old man.
The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg.
The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune.
"We'll see," answered the farmer.
The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son's leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out.
"We'll see" said the farmer.

We never know what is going to bring us real happiness so why not be happy no matter what the external circumstances? 

Believe it or not, I came to realize I had made real progress in my humble evolution when I fell flat on my face and failed miserably in front of a crowd of 2,000 people, and lived to tell about it. The ground did not swallow me up. I did not go to Hell for all eternity. People still spoke to me the next day. I probably dropped a few levels down in their rating book for about 20 minutes – then they forgot. People, and the world, all have A.D.D. these days – no one remembers what happens, the past doesn’t exist too long; most folks are so self-involved, it hardly matters what occurs. So it all goes back to the spiritual axiom, Keep the focus on your Self.

The day I failed miserably was the grand finale of my yoga teaching certification course at the Swami Vivekananda Yoga University in Bangalore, India. On the last night of the one-month course, a massive talent show was held for the students, faculty, and staff. The few of us foreigners were a tiny minority of the populace. Sara, an Austrian actress friend of mine and I decided to perform an experimental art piece in front of the school, based on poetry in motion. In the piece, I would half-sing, half-rap  a piece I had written on personality, and my willowy, talented friend would perform modern dance movements behind a screen with backlighting, creating abstract shadow effects. We recruited two of our male cohorts, Eduardo and Kamal (a long-haired Spanish hippie and a North Indian from Himachal Pradesh, respectively), to play “drums” for us on massive overturned plastic buckets.

All afternoon in rehearsal, prior to the evening performance, we were on fire! The song was strong, the visuals were intriguing, the beat added soul. We were excited to share our passions with the rest of the crowd.

The night of the gig, the Indians at the event – both the audience and dozens of other acts performing – were in typical Indian “fever pitch” mode. This is when it hardly matters what is happening, there is sheer revelry in adrenalin, loud music and extreme acts however vulgar or sublime. The crowd went wild as students performed Bollywood pieces, folk dances, and comedy sketches in Hindi. As the night played on, our little four-piece Euro-Indo-American experimental ensemble was discriminated against as we were consistently edged out and nudged off the lineup. Pushy broad that I can be (ignoring the adage, don’t push the river), I argued with the MC, feeling it imperative: “Our show must also go on!” Though it was getting late, the crowd had clearly hit its peak, and the four of us had also lost our spark, somehow, I felt the hands of the gods with us. We had to perform!

After the audience was entirely spent from three hours of chaotic hysteria…they finally let us go on. And that’s when everything went wrong.

The screen behind which Sara was to move was too small, and the shadow-dance effects were blown. Our Spanish drummer was missing his cues, distracted by a gorgeous Indian girl in the audience he’d just fallen in love with. I was doing my best to keep time, out of time, and perspiring buckets under the spotlights, having stupidly chosen to wear jeans for the "cool" factor. Flop sweat.

And two thousand pairs of big brown eyes stared back at us. What in Lord Shiva’s name are these people doing up there? The whole dang avant garde shebang went right over their heads. Mixed media? Modern dance? Garage band bucket drumming? Spoken word rap? What the heck is she talking about?

HUH?

Culture clash. Burn and crash!

Yes, we were the bomb. And not in any hip sense. We actually BOMBED.

A meager clap or two came when the stage went black at the end of our piece. As we walked off stage it was clear to me: we had failed. Especially me. I was the lead, the writer of the piece, and the provocateur of the whole damned thing.

As I gathered my things and walked into the night to my dorm room, a few pals walked past without making eye contact. Surely, they were embarrassed for me. One friend gave me back my camera (I had asked her to take a few pictures of the show) and scurried away without so much as a good night.

Yes, it really was that bad.

Then, it washed over me in a flush of realization: FANTASTIC LESSON! One of the most important teachings of my yoga teaching course, implemented surreptitiously the final night – a timely coup de grace, indeed. I had failed, big time, and I was still alive! Breathing. Nothing had changed! I was still the same person I was before I went on stage and no one came and murdered me, the Earth didn't bury me alive. No! 

I’d just had a firsthand experience that WHO WE ARE is not outside ourselves. It is not others’ approval or disapproval. Success and failure may come and go, but there is a Source that is holding us far beyond any external happening. Staying connected to the Source (God, Universe, Higher Power, Existence, Consciousness) at all times is the only job. When that connection is unshakable, NOTHING can throw us. Nothing.

In that moment of realization, I felt, Heck. You know, I could have been on Oprah, live on national television at that moment, and bombed. It would have been okay. I would have survived.

I had learned to fail, with Grace.