The Practice of Receiving

We practice releasing. We practice allowing. We practice accepting. We sometimes overlook the practice of receiving. How is it different from these others and why is it important? 

Is it different? In some ways all these practices are related. In one way they are all the same. But each does have a slightly different flavor. Releasing is letting go of something we hold onto. Allowing is letting energy move naturally without interfering. Accepting is seeing things as they are, without judgment. Receiving is taking what is offered with gratitude. 

In the No Way Café contemplation group, for example, we practice receiving what others say –  listening with our whole selves, without commenting or questioning, honoring what is offered as a gift. 

Receiving can sometimes be a challenge. It is hard for some of us to receive a compliment, deflecting kind words rather than soaking in a positive reflection of ourselves. We sometimes resist offers of assistance, even when we are much in need of support. Many of us get defensive when confronted with what we perceive as criticism, instead of considering whether the observation might highlight something we could do better or differently. (Here, criticism means observations offered from love, not mean-spirited or abusive.) 

We often are too busy and distracted to receive the gift of the present moment. In this moment, I am alive. I can hear birds singing. A pleasant breeze whispers through an open window. 

Why is receiving important? To me, it opens my heart and fills my spirit with gratitude. Each moment is a gift from the universe, an opportunity to be aware, to connect, to experience. It is the natural partner of giving. It replenishes me and immerses me in the cycle of universal exchange, recognizing that giving and receiving are oneness in movement. 

Our bodies teach us this. My heart can only pump out the blood that is received as it circulates throughout my body. Our breath keeps us alive by receiving oxygen from the plant world and releasing carbon dioxide needed by the plants. 

So maybe we can practice receiving today. Enjoy a compliment. Feel the warmth of the sun. Listen to someone. Take a breath with awareness. Let someone do something nice for you. 

A simple way to practice receiving is to use just two little words. Thank you. 

Until we can receive with an open heart, we are never really giving with an open heart.  ~Brene Brown

Oh Right, I Knew That

The universe has been giving me plenty of writing material in the joke’s-on-me category. This time it’s about developing a website and working on a new book project. 

For years I have quietly cruised along on my little blog, happy to use Blogger, grateful for all those who have subscribed by email. Then recently Blogger announced that after July they would no longer support the email subscribers on Feedburner. I don’t even know what all that means, but I knew I needed tech help. That led to deciding to have my own website and some other changes, all of which will be happening in the next month or two. (I will give everyone plenty of notice and we will figure out how to ease the transition for all you beloved email subscribers.)

Meanwhile, I have been preparing to publish a new book (more on that later as well), which involves various tasks to appeal (hopefully) to a publisher. 

All of this has taken me way out of my comfort zone, and while I’m excited about these new developments, I have also been resistant and grumpy about having to, no, choosing to, change the way I’ve been doing things, including taking some steps to promote myself and my writing. This definitely does not feel like “the way of no way.” On the contrary, it feels like an unwelcome distraction from my “practice.” Which is what, exactly? Yes, I meditate, and practice martial arts, and write, and facilitate a contemplation group, but what is the point of any of that? (Yes, I know some folks will say there is no point to any of that, and that that is the point.) 

We spent a lot of time in recent months talking in the contemplation group about expanding our “sphere” to include everything that arises within our experience and awareness. Everything. Exclude nothing. And to recognize that when we are struggling, we are out of alignment, we are fighting against reality, we are in conflict with ourselves. We talk about softening the struggle by touching everything with compassion, and releasing our attachment and rejection so that we can live in harmony with the universe. That includes the universe of our choices. 

Busted, right? What is the point of any practice that I engage in or write about if not to integrate body, mind, and soul into the rhythm of creation, to open the heart of compassion to embrace everything, to notice and ease any struggle with reality, to lean into fear rather than try to escape it, to awaken to our true nature and live fully in each precious moment? And if a few of those precious moments involve a little discomfort over learning some new technology and changing the way I do some things, then my practice is to expand my sphere to include this too. This too. 

So I’m having a pretty good laugh at myself. Again. Here I am with my knickers in a knot, struggling over the very things I’ve chosen to do in order to share with others the practice that has so enriched my life by teaching me how not to struggle. Yeah, people are complicated. And funny. 

You are welcome to share a laugh with me. And I hope you will be patient as I wade through these coming transitions. 

It takes more than just awareness for us to change. It takes courage and humility and the willingness to occasionally feel like fools and laugh at ourselves. ~Bud Harris

Emotional Hoarding

The price of staying awake is giving up every reason you have to stop loving. ~Adyashanti

Do you know anyone who is a hoarder? I do. When I walk into her apartment, there are piles of newspapers and magazines everywhere. Boxes of unknown contents are stacked along the walls. Every surface is crowded with deals too good to pass up. There is little room to move, no space to cook or eat, and only one little corner of the couch available where she can sit and watch TV. Visitors are not allowed beyond the front room, so I don’t know where she sleeps. The apartment is impossible to clean. She acknowledges the negative impact on her life and even worries that there is so much weight in the apartment that the floor might collapse. She is miserable.

And yet she cannot let any of it go, even though she knows that her life would be so much better if she could. What is the nature of such an attachment that is so strong that the price of giving it up in order to have a healthier, more balanced, happier life is just too high?* 

Some of us might think that such an attachment is beyond our understanding. But what if we are told, as Adyashanti said, that the price of living an awakened life is giving up every reason we have to stop loving? Every judgment, every resentment, every hurt feeling, every unforgiving thought, every irritation, every criticism, every “othering”? What if we are told that all of these reasons, no matter how justified, keep us locked in an emotional state of suffering? And that giving them up, all of them, without exception, will free us to live a more integrated, harmonious, healthier, happier, awakened life?

Can we understand attachment a little better now? I know I can. 

Most of us, if we’re honest, can discover, if not an emotional apartment full of clutter, at least an emotional junk drawer we haven’t cleaned out in time beyond memory. We might not even know what is in it anymore. When we look, we might be able to toss some things, but there will be that one little thing that we hold in our hand with hesitation. “You never know when I might need that,” we think. 

Or there might be the emotional treasure that is displayed a place of honor on the mantel. Such a spot is often reserved for the big unforgiveness attachments we never forget – parents who let us down, lovers who left us, friends who betrayed us. Who can argue with those reasons to stop loving? No one. 

That’s the point, isn’t it? I can justify every reason I have to stop loving. I can hold onto it in perfect righteousness. And I can wear my resultant suffering like a cloak of justice. A heavy cloak that drags with the weight of accumulated wrongs I can’t let go of. 

So why can’t we just unfasten that cloak and leave it in the dirt? Do we hold on because of some fear of what will happen if we let it go? Would we feel grief or vulnerability? Or perhaps, if we look closely, we might admit there is some pleasure in sitting in judgment, in fantasizing revenge, in attracting sympathy for our injury.  

Whatever our reason, we will hold onto it until we want freedom more than we want to suffer. Because until we are willing to forego the secret delight of withholding love, we will be as trapped by our emotional hoarding as my friend is in her apartment. 

For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. ~Matthew 6:21

*I understand that hoarding can be a mental health issue that isn’t as simple as just making a choice. I use the example of hoarding here only as a metaphor for holding onto emotional attachments that do not serve our well being. 

The Trap of Being “Good”

 

Wanting to be good is a good thing. Right? I want to be a good person, a good mother, a good friend, and so on. And I want others to see me as good. I want my goodness reflected back to me in how others think of me, talk about me, and act towards me. 

Wanting to be good and to be seen as good can motivate us to conform our behavior to this ideal. And that seems like a desirable aspiration. 

It can, however, also result in avoidance of noticing thoughts or behaviors that do not meet this ideal of goodness. We can become defensive instead of receptive when someone reflects back to us something we’ve done or said that falls short. We rationalize, justify, explain – whatever it takes to deflect an honest assessment or genuine listening.

Or perhaps we go to the opposite extreme. If we acknowledge our imperfections, our identity as a good person is crushed, and we are lost in self judgment and condemnation. If I do something bad, then I must not be good. I am one or the other.

We are so invested in our identity of goodness, and fearful of not measuring up in our own eyes or the eyes of others, that we cannot accept ourselves as complex human beings with a full range of thoughts and behaviors. We lose any chance of being or knowing who we are, and with that loss, any chance of true connection with others. It’s like “my people will talk to your people,” but it’s really “my facade of goodness will interface with your facade of goodness.” 

This issue of being a good person comes up a lot in conversations about bias, especially about unconscious or implicit bias. Bias is often denied because someone is a “good person” and therefore cannot be biased, because any bias would make the person “bad.” That denial then effectively closes off any open dialogue or genuine self reflection about the inevitable existence of biases woven into our conscious and unconscious thoughts and behaviors.

Such denial also takes a lot of effort to maintain. It is exhausting to fragment ourselves, defending the parts that reinforce our goodness, and rejecting and hiding the parts that don’t. It tires me just thinking about it! 

As the saying goes, what we resist, persists. Our resistance to open and honest self inquiry doesn’t make us better people. It strengthens those aspects of ourselves we try to keep hidden. What if we could set aside our need to be good and our fear of being bad? What if we could allow ourselves to see the fullness and richness of who we are? Those parts locked up in the darkness, when brought to the light of acknowledgment with honesty and compassion, can be transformed with the love of understanding and forgiveness. 

It’s not as scary as it sounds. On the contrary, it is a relief. Not long ago, someone reflected back to me something I had done that was hurtful. Before, I would have gotten defensive and explained how the person had misinterpreted what had happened. I would have told my side of things, in such a way to show how my intentions had been good. In short, I would have tried to convince the other person that they were wrong to feel the way they did, and if they would just see things the way I did, all would be well. My “goodness” would be reaffirmed. 

I admit, that impulse was still there ... for a moment. But I was able to take a deep breath and listen. That listening helped me see the situation from the other person’s perspective, to acknowledge the pain they had experienced. While I couldn’t go back and change what I had done, I could accept responsibility for my own words and actions. I could accept this person’s experience without trying to invalidate it or fix it. Instead, I could learn from it. I could consider how I might have handled things better, how I might be able to take that awareness with me into future interactions. 

Goodness is not the issue. I was not a bad person because I had done something hurtful. I was not a good person because I listened. Honesty is the issue. Compassion is the issue. Compassion for the other person’s pain. Compassion for myself as a person who makes mistakes. And in that compassion is relief. 

When we release ourselves from the trap of goodness, we are free. And in that freedom, genuine relationship is possible. And that is good. 

Writing this post reminds me of one of my favorite children’s books – The Fire Cat, by Esther Averill. 

"Pickles, you are not a bad cat. You are not a good cat. You are good and bad. And bad and good. You are a mixed-up cat."

Aren’t we all?

Face to Face

For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face. 1 Corinthians 13:12

When we read this verse, we might yearn for that time of seeing face to face, when all things become clear and we see things as they really are. We don’t often pause to wonder if we will like what we see. 

2020, the year of perfect 20/20 vision, is coming to a close. We have had the opportunity to look into that glass and see through the murky darkness. And what have we seen? 

We’ve all watched videos of animals seeing themselves in a mirror. Some are puzzled, tentatively reaching out to touch their reflection. Some are threatened and attack. Some are excited and offer to play. All of them think that they are seeing an “other,” separate from themselves. 

Is that what we see when we look at this year? This year has set the table with an unending buffet of “other” possibilities, so many “thems.” Thems of other race, gender, political party, sexual orientation, nationality, religion, age, economic status, education, and more. All the thems who are causing all the problems.

This year has brought us face to face. Do we recognize ourselves, or like the animals in the videos, do we mistake our reflections as “other,” as “them”? Are we willing to look in the mirror and see things as they really are? To see ourselves as we really are? 

When I look at my own reflection in the mirror of this year, I see some things I wanted to turn away from. It has been revealing, embarrassing, disappointing, frustrating, and most of all humbling. Very humbling. And in that, there has been some relief, shedding false images, releasing burdens of control (which I never really had anyway), grieving loss. Acceptance. Forgiveness. Gratitude. And that has been good.  

The Gospel of Thomas says that when we find what we are seeking, we will be disturbed, and that disturbance will lead to marvel. I love this verse because it promises that when we are willing to tolerate, even to embrace, the disturbance that comes from looking at ourselves honestly, individually and corporately, we will move through that disturbance to marvel at who we really are, jewels in the net of Indra, all connected, all reflecting the perfection of creation. 

In the No Way Café contemplation group, we often end a gathering by sharing what we can take from our time together as we go forward. Looking at this year as a gathering, I am taking so many things, but perhaps primarily some heightened awareness of race and privilege. As I go forward, I hope to be more self aware, to listen more and speak less, to look more deeply at assumptions, to inquire rather than suggest, to trust. 

What has this year reflected back to you? What will you take from this year as you go forward? 

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 76

A person at birth is soft and gentle

At death is hard and unyielding

Sprouting plants are tender and supple

At death are brittle and dry

Stiff and unyielding are associated with death

Soft and gentle with life

The wisdom in this chapter is easy to understand from our own observations. Babies learning to walk fall a lot, yet they are rarely injured. Their bones are flexible and they are relaxed in their efforts. An older person is sometimes unsteady on their feet. They are afraid of falling because falls often result in broken bones or serious injury. 

I also experience the truth of this chapter when practicing martial arts. People believe that muscular strength is the key to success, but there is always someone stronger. Using force based on muscle strength is easily defeated. I watched an 80 year old tai chi master, small in stature with a little pot belly, deflect attacks from young, buff, highly skilled kung fu teachers. He stood calm and relaxed as his opponents, some of whom towered over him, tried to grab him. With a barely detectable shift in stance and a subtle movement of his hands or wrists, he sent his attackers flying across the room. 

Where did that power come from? From being relaxed and centered, yielding and fluid, opening up the channels of energy that move freely when not blocked. From being unafraid, fully present, and responsive rather than reactive. He didn’t meet force with force but rather allowed force to pass by him as he remained unaffected.

What I noticed the most was that he was having a great time. He was always smiling. And at the end of the practice, he was not even breathing hard. 

Not all of us practice martial arts, but all of us encounter conflict in our lives. How do we respond? When we are rigid in our opinions, when we insist on being right, when we try to force others to comply with our demands, or to conform to our expectations, we invite resistance. We feed the energy of division and hostility. 

If you are a parent or a teacher, you have no doubt heard the excuse “She started it! I had no choice.” And we have probably heard that plenty of times from adults too. But what this chapter teaches is that we always have a choice – the energy of life or the energy of death. 

So think about it. What does the energy of life look like in a particular situation? It’s not always exactly the same because it is always open and receptive, responsive to the moment. It is fluid, adaptable, alert, appropriate. 

Next time conflict arises, try to be aware of how you engage with it. No need to be judgmental, just curious. Learn about yourself. Then make your choice. 

I could see peace instead of this. ~A Course in Miracles

How to Calm DOWN When You Are Riled UP

The answer is right there in the terms we use to describe ourselves when we are upset or at ease. It is a matter of direction. 

A few days ago I had an appointment with someone who was coming to my house. The person didn’t arrive on time, and as the minutes ticked by, I became irritated. I texted her and didn’t receive an immediate response which irritated me even more. I kept going to the window to see if she had arrived and checking my phone to see if she had texted. My mind was spinning stories – judging her for being late, worried that it was I who had made a mistake about the time, and so on. I felt agitated and restless. My heart rate was up a bit. I felt disappointed and angry. 

I tried to think my way out of my distress. Maybe she was stuck somewhere and couldn’t get in touch. Even if she forgot, I have done the same on more than one occasion. Nothing terrible was happening. It would all sort itself out. That helped a little, but I was still unable to relax. I reflected on this a bit.

When we are upset or angry or agitated, our energy rises. Our breathing is shallow. Our weight shifts forward and upward. Our attention is in our heads. Our thoughts run amok, shouting stories about whatever has initiated our distress. We fuel the stories with fiery emotions. Or perhaps we try to douse the fire with other thoughts, which still keep us in our heads. 

So many terms identify this upward direction of energy. We get riled up, churned up, revved up, for example. Tempers rise. 

Other terms suggest a way to restore our inner equilibrium – calm down, settle down, slow down. The direction away from distress is downward. So how do we do that? Because we rely so much on our brains, our first instinct is to think our way out of a problem. However, thinking often is the problem. Our distress is in our thoughts. And while it is possible to think ourselves back into balance, a more direct way is to move out of our heads and down into our bodies.

So I did a simple exercise to bring my energy down. I inhaled and stood on my toes, raising my arms away from my body. I paused there a moment, then suddenly released my weight as I exhaled and dropped into my feet, letting my arms fall at the same time. I kept my knees relaxed so that when my heels hit the ground, there was a soft bounce, like I was shaking all the tension loose and letting it sink into the earth. 

On the third repetition, I felt an internal release and everything immediately relaxed. My body felt calm, my mind stopped chattering, my emotions settled. Equanimity was restored. Just like that. Only a few seconds. Not complicated. Simple. Effective. 

As I was marveling at the wisdom of my body, my friend texted. Indeed we had miscommunicated about the time. I’m not even sure which one of us was at fault, or indeed if there had been any fault at all. At that point it no longer mattered to me. We got together and had a good visit. 

At a time when many of us are feeling so much stress and anxiety, and other “up” emotions, this is a great exercise to help us stay balanced and grounded. Try it. I hope it’s helpful. 

Get yourself grounded and you can navigate even the stormiest roads in peace. ~Steve Goodier

So Blessed

 How have I been so blessed

To have this life

To be life

Released from all knowing

Falling gratefully

Into the current of the infinite

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 72

When people do not fear power
Great power appears

These first two lines have been translated and interpreted so many ways, it’s difficult to find any footing in a particular meaning. Like many passages in the Tao Te Ching which seem to address governance, this couplet could refer to actual political government, and could also refer to the way we govern our own individual selves internally. I tend to lean towards the internal application of these passages, because harmonious external governance is rooted in harmonious internal alignment. 

With that in mind, the power referenced in these lines is not necessarily the external imposition of superior force, but could mean the power inherent in all of us when we allow the limitless natural energy of the universe to move in us, through us, and manifest outwardly. This is not the power of individual will, but rather the power of all creation when our own individual will is surrendered in alignment. 

The power of this universal energy is blocked by fear. As Marianne Williamson said, “Our deepest fear is not that we are powerless. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.” Thus, great power appears when fear is released. Sit with that for a moment.

The chapter continues by observing that this power is not oppressive. It does not interfere with or disrupt or burden people’s lives, but rather operates in natural harmony with the people’s homes, families, and activities.

Thus the sage is self aware without seeking recognition
Loves herself without arrogance
Moves freely without attachment

Here is a description of inner balance and freedom. When I read this I get a sense of someone who delights in life, walking humbly in service to others, appreciating the miracle of each moment. 

Do justice. Love mercy. Walk humbly. ~ from Micah 6:8

Carried by Practice

The last several days, I have been caught up in a spiritual tantrum. A patient friend listened to me rant about my frustration.

I’m not feeling very kumbaya. I don’t want to cultivate compassion or acceptance. I feel judgmental and angry. I don’t like people very much right now. I’m mad at the universe for its relentless offering of opportunities to practice. My personal life, my family’s life, friends' lives, and I don’t even know what to do with all the global angst and suffering. I am tired of practicing. Practice, practice, practice. I am bone tired, soul tired, heart tired. Energy exhausted. 

After giving voice to my meltdown, I didn’t feel better. I felt worse. After releasing all that pent up churning, I went home and plummeted into sadness, crushing, heart breaking sadness. I sank into surrendered silence. Breathe. One breath. Another.

Then Practice spoke to me:

That’s okay. You don’t need to practice right now. Stop struggling. You are wearing yourself out. Needlessly. I will carry you. I will get you through this.  

Oh. I realized practice is not a discipline. It’s a relationship. A healthy relationship of give and take on both sides. A relationship of trust and familiarity. And love. The deeper I go with my practice and the more consistent I am, the more I learn to trust that in tough times, the practice sustains me. Indeed, it does carry me and get me through.

I had forgotten. Wow, forgetting used up a lot of energy. I felt a bit foolish. But accepting of my foolishness. What’s that? Compassion peeked out and smiled. And okay, I might have felt a little bit kumbaya.

Behind the hardness there is fear
And if you touch the heart of the fear
You find sadness
And if you touch the sadness
You find the vast blue sky
 ~Rick Fields

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 71

Understanding that we do not know is wisdom
Believing that we know the unknowable is suffering

First year law students often arrive expecting that they are going to be told all the answers to legal questions. After a few weeks of hearing professors say, “That depends on ...,” they begin to suspect that the professors know the answers but for some pedagogical or sadistic reason are keeping the answers a secret from the students. It takes a while to convince them that legal analysis does indeed rest on a number of factors and variables.

Oprah Winfrey’s magazine always ends with a column titled “What I Know for Sure.” I used to joke that I was in awe of Oprah because she knew something for sure at least twelve times a year. 

Buddha understood that attachment or desire is the root of suffering. One of the things our brains are wired to desire is unchanging certainty. So strong is this craving, that our brains will grasp onto a false answer rather than tolerate the discomfort of not knowing. Once securely attached to an answer, the brain resists the trauma of releasing it even when a better answer is presented. I have seen my own brain do this. It’s kind of amazing. 

And it leads to suffering. Because on some level we know that we are floating in an ocean of mystery paddling a leaky raft. Our soul swims lazily alongside, beckoning. “Come on in; the water’s fine.” And we just paddle harder. 

Until we don’t. Until we are so tired of the suffering we cause ourselves, that we are willing to dive into our fear because we are less afraid of the murky depths than of staying where we are.

And guess what. The water is fine. And so are we. 

You know nothing, Jon Snow. ~Ygritte, Game of Thrones

What Is Left

What is left to say

when all is silent

What is left to grasp

when all is released

What is left to believe

when all is surrendered

What is left to fear

when all is love

What is left to be

when all is one

Fear Is the Mind Killer

I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
    ~ from Dune, by Frank Herbert

This litany against fear resonated with me when I was young. I memorized it and would recite it when needed, which was often. It came back into my awareness recently. Now, decades later, it resonates still, perhaps even more so because over the years I have lived its wisdom so many times.

What I appreciate about this passage is the recognition that if not resisted or denied, fear will dissipate on its own.

We are taught first to understand what fear is and then to face our fear. Years ago, a friend told me that the driving force in my life was fear. At the time, I saw myself as a bold person, taking risks, living adventures. I dismissed what my friend said, thinking that she must not know me very well, and was probably not such a good friend after all. Time proved that on the contrary, she knew me better than most, and certainly better than I knew myself. Only by acknowledging the undertow of quiet terror in my life was I able to do the work necessary to release its hold on me.

And how do we do that work? Not by struggle, but by being inwardly still, emptying ourselves of resistance, thus allowing space for the fear to move over or through us. Sounds easy but we all know it isn’t. Why is that?

The Buddhist teacher Pema Chodron tells the story of a young warrior sent out to battle fear. The warrior felt small and ill equipped to confront fear, who stood across from her, looking huge and invincible. Yet she summoned her courage and approached. When she got close, she bowed to fear and asked how she could defeat him. Fear was moved by her show of respect. He said that his weapons were that he would get up in her face, talking fast in a loud voice. However, if she did not do what he told her to do, then he had no power over her.

This story portrays fear the way most of us think of fear – like a big scary screaming monster. But I’ve found that fear can also look less threatening, even alluring. Not yelling but whispering, sounding very reasonable.

So how do we know if fear is speaking to us? We know because fear will always tell us to separate, to close our hearts, to be ever vigilant and on guard. Fear will tell us we are powerless. Fear will urge us to try to control what we can’t control, thus affirming that our efforts are futile. Fear will tell us to take, to defend, to attack, to judge. Fear will tell us that we are alone. Fear will tell us that if we don’t do what fear says, we will die.

We’ve all been there. Whether fear screams or whispers, we’ve all felt that urge to do what fear tells us. We play right into fear’s hands. Fear has indeed killed our minds by hijacking our thoughts and spinning out stories that we believe.

But if we can recognize when fear is speaking, we can claim our power, our power to choose. We can choose to do what fear says, or we can choose not to. We can choose to be still, to hold fast in openness and allow fear to move on through. And then, as the passage promises, we will see that fear was nothing. It never was.

We are living in a time when fear appears to have seized the minds of individuals and nations. It can feel overwhelming. We need a reminder, something to hold onto, something to ground us in truth. It might be time to memorize the Dune passage once again, to breathe deeply and recite it when fear is in our face. We can bow to fear in acknowledgment and respectfully decline to do what fear says. And then wait for the peace that will surely come.

The opposite of love is fear, but what is all-encompassing can have no opposite. ~A Course in Miracles

Now Is the Time

If it weren’t for my mind, my meditation would be excellent. ~Pema Chodron

You’ve heard me frequently emphasize and encourage practice. I’ve talked about the “razor’s edge” of practice, that place where we are challenged to release, expand, embrace, accept, forgive. The place where we meet fear on the battlefield and bow in respect. The place where we experience the distress of not knowing. The place where we come face to face with reality and find that it looks just...like...us. Not the us that we tell ourselves about, not the us that we hide from others, not the us that we want others to see – no, the us as we are, just as we are, right now in this moment.

How do we practice when, well, when things are like they are? Especially like they are these days? How do we practice when everything from viruses to earthquakes to politics to not enough toilet paper threatens our equanimity? When our routines are disrupted, our expectations disregarded, our assumptions revealed and proven false? When fear runs rampant in our minds and our hearts are shattered in grief?

This is precisely the time to practice, to practice, as Pema Chodron says, like our hair is on fire. (That always makes me laugh...and motivates me!) This is when the practice we do when things are easy, shows up to support us and sustain us when things are hard. This is when the trust we have built up in our practice is put to the test and carries us steady on the course.

And what is it exactly that we are practicing? What we can. Awareness. Loving kindness. Meditation. Too much? That’s okay. Practice mindful breathing. Start with this breath. Now this one. It is enough.

The point is not to add more to our to do lists, or to reach some self-imposed standard, but to permeate our lives with compassion, beginning with ourselves. How many times have I heard someone say recently, “I have to,” or “I should have,” or some version of self demand or self failure. When I hear this, I just want to say, “It’s okay. We are all muddling through as best we can, learning and adapting as we go. It’s okay.”

Bring awareness and compassion to the muddling. It is enough.

Now is the time, not to be perfect, not to know everything. Now is the time to practice, to practice being here, now. Take another breath. It is enough.

If you want to conquer the anxiety of life, live in the moment, live in the breath. ~Amit Ray

Note: The photo above is one of my statues of Kuan Yin, the Chinese goddess of mercy and compassion. I love this statue because she is surrounded by coiling dragons with water churning beneath her. Yet she remains serene, pouring the nectar of compassion right into the dragon's mouth.

I Am the Cake!

A meditation teacher was describing two approaches to attaining enlightenment. One, he said, is like showing someone a picture of a cake and telling them “Go make this.” The other is like giving someone a recipe. I understood what he meant. He was suggesting that the instructions in the recipe would be more helpful than a photo with no directions. But something kept lurking at the edge of my consciousness, something that seemed a bit off.

So I sat on my cushion and contemplated this whole cake metaphor. And suddenly I knew what was bothering me. Both approaches describe a way to attain or produce something, something you don’t already have.

What if, instead, I don’t think in terms of making a cake, but rather in terms of realizing that I am the cake? I don’t need to make anything, produce anything, attain anything. I only need to remember who I am. I only need to allow my true nature to manifest and be expressed.

Does that mean that there is no purpose to practice or process? No, I don’t think so. Our practice is not so much about attaining enlightenment as it is about releasing everything that blocks our awareness of our natural enlightened state. I don’t need to get from here to there. I need to remember that I’m already where I want to be. I always have been. I never left.

In a temple in Thailand, there is a solid gold Buddha that was encased in a plaster statue for so long that its true nature was forgotten. As I wrote in an earlier blog post, its priceless truth was only rediscovered when it fell from a crane moving it and some plaster chipped off. When all the plaster was then removed, the brilliance and magnificent beauty of the golden Buddha shone forth.

Some speculate that the Buddha was covered in plaster to protect it from invaders. We do that too. We encase ourselves in layers of what we think of as protection, so many layers that we forget what is underneath. We pretend that we are in control. Safe. Until life drops us and some of that protection is chipped away. And if we dare to look, we see something shimmering in the darkness.

What then? Here is our choice. We can cover it back up, or we can begin to loosen the protection and strip it away, freeing ourselves from all our false imaginings. Until we see that there was nothing that needed protecting in the first place. For as A Course in Miracles teaches:

Nothing real can be threatened
Nothing unreal exists
Herein lies the peace of God

No One Tells You

No one tells you
There is a sadness
When all is left behind
Although shed willingly
Touch lingers
A last caress
Of what was once a treasure
There is no going back
Nor would you want to
Yet there were moments
When happiness kissed your lips
And longing stirred your soul
When the dream sang sweetly
And illusion beckoned beauty

The Year of Perfect Vision

As already noted by many people, 20/20 represents perfect vision, making 2020 the year of perfect vision. I love that.

This year is an invitation to look with our inner sight, to see things not as we wish them to be, or imagine them to be, but as they are. To see through the stories, the judgments, the desires, the aversions, the memories of the past, the projections into the future, all the ways we distort reality. To see, as the Bible says, not through a glass darkly, but face to face.

And how do we do this? Not but looking outward, but by turning our gaze inward. By watching ourselves with curiosity and compassion, noticing how we get distracted, how we tell ourselves stories and then believe them, how we judge ourselves and others, how we allow fear to dictate our thoughts and actions, how we cling and grasp and push away, how we try to control the narrative instead of dropping the narrative, how we think we know what reality should be.

By noticing how exhausting all this is! And how futile. And how endearingly human.

Then comes the moment of surrender, when we release all our efforts to make better, to do better, to be better. When we see ourselves face to face and accept ourselves just the way we are. When we look without fear, and the perfection of all creation is revealed to us. When we see our own reflection, woven into creation’s radiant threads, loved and loving. So beautiful.

When we see with perfect vision, we see that indeed, we are wonderfully made in the image of God. All creation is Love’s masterpiece.

May we be inspired every time we write the date, or see it on our phones or calendars, to remember that this year is the year we require no artificial aids to sight. We are gifted with perfect vision this year. We need only open our eyes to see.

I once was lost but now I’m found, was blind but now I see.  ~ “Amazing Grace”

George Pays It Forward

In a recent post, I described my grandson’s loving acceptance of George the lemur who lost his tail. This morning, George was found with his hand resting on Chao Chao in what appears to be a gesture of kindness. (Everyone denies staging this scenario, so think what you will about how this came about.)

Chao Chao recently joined the family, brought home by my daughter (my grandson’s aunt) from her visit to China over Thanksgiving. He is a rat, symbolizing 2020, the year of the rat in Chinese astrology.

Perhaps George is inviting us to make 2020 the year of kindness and compassion, to encourage others rather than criticize, to accept rather than judge, to reach out rather than reject, to forgive rather than hate, to love rather than fear.

The Dalai Lama says that his religion is kindness. The Chinese goddess Guan Yin pours the nectar of compassion over the world. Jesus cautioned us to judge not, and commanded us to love our neighbors as ourselves. Buddha taught that hatred ceases not by hatred but only by love.

All these great wisdom teachings have been modeled for me in the last few days by my grandson and his stuffed animal. “And a little child shall lead them,” says the Bible. Perhaps one of my last lessons this year is humility.

In a few days I will head up to my forest cabin for my year end retreat. On New Year’s Eve, I will sit in front of the fire. First I will write a letter to the year ending, thanking it for its lessons and blessings. Then I will write a letter to the new year, welcoming it with hospitality and openness. Finally I will burn both letters, offering all my gratitude and anticipation to the heavens and the earth.

We each choose what to pay forward in the next year. May we choose well.

Let It Go

Let it go

But...

Let it go

I love it

You love an illusion -- let it go

I will ... tomorrow

There is no tomorrow -- let it go now

If I let it go I will have nothing

You will have everything -- let it go

I am afraid

Yes, I know -- let the fear go too

Let it all go

You will see

Clothed in Divine Raiment

The title to this post is more “religious” sounding than my usual writing. Yet this phrase came to me up at the cabin this last weekend and it has persistently stayed with me. So I, in turn, have persistently stayed with it! I meditated and asked this phrase to reveal to me its message. And the message came in the form of a prayer of praise and thanksgiving. So I will share it with you as it came to me.

Lord of glory
You have clothed me in divine raiment
I am magnified in your loving mercy
You have stretched forth your hand
And I take it gladly
Leaving all else behind
I walk into your embrace
Shedding all density
I am robed in your splendor
I am yours now and forever
Blessed in bounty
Loved into eternity

As I contemplated this message, I realized that indeed, the last two years have been intense years of shedding, letting go of everything I held onto – beliefs, illusions, hopes, expectations, fears, identities. The world is different to me now, and I am different in it. Everything is ordinary and extraordinary at the same time. Mundane and magical. Every day is an adventure, every moment is a gift, every breath a liberation.

This is, I think, the meaning of living in grace, living in alignment with the energy of the universe, entering the realm of oneness with all creation. It is, as Buddha said, the power of being awake.

I wish I could tell you that I experience this all the time. I don’t. But I do more and more. And when I do, I’m aware that indeed, like the lilies of the field, I am clothed in the divine raiment of life. And I am grateful.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. ~Psalm 139:14