​​Waking Up | The Zen of baseball


By Cary Bayer | Contributing Columnist

Now that baseball season is upon us, before the umpire even gets to shout, “Play ball!” let’s take a look at some of the metaphysical reasons the game has been called our national pastime. 

First off, it’s timeless. Unlike football that’s played with a ticking clock that causes the losing team to rush frantically to get plays off before the referee shoots off his gun to signal the game’s conclusion, baseball can go on forever. Even its tie-breaking extra innings are relaxed, unlike football, which – as George Carlin reminded us – ends with sudden death. Baseball is as eternal as metaphysicians know life itself is. Because of this, it has a leisurely pace that doesn’t cause high blood pressure in those who play it or watch it.

Secondly, it’s played on a diamond. And a diamond is a girl’s best friend; it’s also a Buddhist’s best friend, as anyone who’s ever read The Diamond Sutra will agree. The sacred text recounts a dialogue between the Buddha and his disciple Subhuti on the nature of perception and reality. The diamond is also a man’s best friend – regardless of religion – as this cherished stone endears almost any woman to him.  

Thirdly, its season begins every spring, like the rebirth of nature herself. And the sport’s fans’ hopes spring eternal for their favorite team as the season begins.

The whole movement of baseball from home plate back to home plate again is a perfect metaphor for the journey of life itself. [Staff]

A fourth reason, like the fourth base itself [home], involves the whole movement of baseball from home plate back to home plate again. It’s a perfect metaphor for the journey of life itself. The batter starts at home, and must return there safely. In baseball, the hitter must battle the pitcher; if he succeeds he gains passage to first base [further if he musters “extra base” power]. Then he relies on the support of his teammates to help him circle the bases. Can the batter behind him sacrifice him to second; if not, will the next hitter wisely hit between the infield holes and move him to third; can some clutch batter drive him home? If so, he returns to where he started. Only now everything is different: he’s welcomed by his mates in the dugout with high-fives for his successful adventure on the base paths, for he’s now scored a run, which may be enough to secure victory.

This is a metaphor for the arc of life itself. You are born in innocence, at one with everything you perceive. You then fall from this blissful paradise, to gain experience of the world. If you then answer the call to what mythologist Joseph Campbell called the hero’s journey, you’ll evolve your consciousness until you reach the realized state of the sage. In this level of consciousness, the experiences of worldly life co-exist with the oneness of enlightenment, the great freedom that Jesus referred to when he said that heaven required that grownups must become unadulterated like children.

“The end of all our exploring,” said the poet T. S. Eliot, “will be to arrive where we started. And to know the place for the first time.” This quotation explains the cosmic irony of both the hero journey and baseball. Lest we forget, the most quoted player in the game is  Yogi [Berra].

This sport captured America’s imagination for most of the 20th century because of such cosmic dynamics. What we discover at the fulfillment of the hero’s journey is that where we end up is where we really started, although different in a most liberating way.

Cary Bayer is a life coach who conducts a national private practice in the mountains of New York [845-679-5526] and by the ocean in South Florida [954-788-338]. You can visit him on his website at carybayer.com or successaerobics@aol.com to contact him via email.

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