Cattāri Brahmavihārā

Watching the mind complain as I make my way down 14th Street to the train and catching snippets of conversations as I pass. One exchange catches my attention more than the others ahs it’s a brief interchange between two young yuppie guys. The one, in dress slacks and a polar fleece asks the other as he heads to the dry cleaners if he’s going to be around this weekend. Instantly my fault finding mind’s engaged and I have already fanned them both to a weekend full of frat style binge drinking and debauchery. Naturally, I paint all of this on the field of my own relatively unbesmirched moral purity. But, wait, something doesn’t feel right. 

How am I any better? Let’s say I have completely accurate psychic powers and I’ve correctly procured their plans. Haven’t I done the same plenty of times in this life alone. Am I worthy of disdain? How am I any different? Don’t I, too, want happiness and not suffering?

I trust these choices less and less which send to me a good sign. May I place blame on my own kilesas where it belongs and not harass other beings wishing for freedom from suffering.