🪷Śāntideva: The Ancient Expert on First Crushes

Śāntideva is famous for teaching emptiness, compassion, and the bodhisattva path. Yet every now and then he reminds us that he also understood human beings far too well.

He writes:

First, one gathers the courage to lift up the face and look.

Then, when the gaze is returned, one immediately looks down in embarrassment.

Whether one has seen the beloved before or not,

One suddenly finds great interest in hiding behind one’s clothes.

In modern language:

“Step one: Look.”

“Step two: Panic.”

“Step three: Pretend you weren’t looking.”

The whole process lasts approximately three seconds.

The person thinks, “Today I shall act naturally.”

Immediately upon seeing the object of affection, all previous training collapses.

Years of philosophy? Gone.

Meditation? Gone.

Memorized scriptures? Gone.

Now the mind contains only one thought:

“Why are my hands suddenly so strange?”

But what makes Śāntideva’s observation truly profound is that he is describing the very beginning of a relationship….the stage where seeing each other is the greatest joy.

Modern romance begins exactly the same way.

A young man sees a young woman.

A young woman sees a young man.

They exchange one glance and suddenly forget how language works.

Text messages are examined like sacred scriptures.

A reply arriving in thirty seconds brings immeasurable happiness.

A reply arriving after three hours produces an entire philosophy of suffering.

If they accidentally touch hands, it becomes the main topic of contemplation for the next six months.

The beloved’s flaws are invisible.

“He snores are how adorable.”

“Her stubborn is how cute”

“What a profound mystery.”

At this stage, if they spend one day apart, they feel as though they have been separated for three kalpas.

Then comes marriage.

A few years later, the same couple who once walked into lamp posts because they were staring at each other now sit in silence scrolling on their phones.

The husband says, “Did you hear what I said?”

The wife replies, “You haven’t said anything.”

The husband answers, “Exactly.”

The romance has evolved.

Before marriage they looked at each other constantly.

After marriage they communicate primarily through household noises.

A sigh means one thing.

A louder sigh means something else.

Closing a cabinet door slightly harder than usual can communicate an entire paragraph.

In the beginning, they could not stop looking at each other.

Twenty years later, they know every wrinkle, every habit, every story, and every complaint before it is spoken.

One says, “I know what you’re going to say.”

The other replies, “Then why did you ask?”

Yet there is something wise hidden in all this.

The excitement of love depends on not knowing.

The maturity of love depends on knowing.

A crush says:

“I hope you will like me.”

A lasting marriage says:

“I know all your strange habits, your bad moods, your unreasonable opinions, your snoring, your stubbornness, your collection of things that nobody should collect and I am still here.”

The first kind of love is fueled by imagination.

The second is tested by reality.

One is enchanted by beauty.

The other survives because of patience.

The young lovers in Śāntideva’s verse lower their eyes because they are afraid to be seen.

The old married couple sometimes avoid looking at each other because they have already seen everything.

And yet, if they are fortunate, there comes a moment late in life when they sit together quietly.

No more shyness.

No more pretending.

No more dramatic romance.

Just two people who have spent decades sharing joys, sorrows, arguments, illnesses, victories, failures, and countless cups of tea.

Then they glance at each other.

Not with the nervousness of first love, but with the tenderness of knowing.

And perhaps that is the greater miracle.

The first glance says, “I hope we can be together.”

The last glance says, “We made it.”

Śāntideva would probably smile and remind us that both stages are impermanent.

But he would also laugh at the strange journey of human beings:

First they cannot look at each other.

Then they cannot stop looking at each other.

Then they do not want to look at each other.

And finally, after all the years have passed, they quietly discover that there is nobody else they would rather look at.

—Dordrak Gyalsay