FUGGETTA BOUT IT

Would Life Be Easier Without Remembering?

Memory is an essential component of how we identify with our lives. Without it, we would lose much of our personal identity and our capacity to navigate the world effectively. Memory is also critical in our development as humans, particularly in forming mental strategies for protection. As we evolved, we traded physical defenses—fangs, venom, scales, and talons—for enhanced cognitive abilities, including an increased capacity for memory.

This enhancement of memory served our defensive systems well, allowing us to predict future events based on past experience. Early mammals developed the ability to remember dangerous or painful situations in order to avoid them in the future. Humans evolved to build on this by not only remembering danger but also transferring knowledge from one situation to another, improving our ability to evade risks.

Memory, therefore, serves an important survival purpose. Yet, it also encumbers and complicates our moment-to-moment perception of reality. Much of what various meditative disciplines seek to achieve is clarity of mind—the idea of direct perception or a non-dual experience where there is no separation between the perceiver and the perceived.

In a dualistic experience, we are distanced from direct perception. Our minds filter everything we see, hear, feel, taste, touch and think —through the lens of memory. This process involves not only concepts of belief but also adjacent ideas and internal impulses that may have little relevance to the actual experience. Memory is an imperfect and shambolic system, that often clouds our clarity of mind.

If we could jettison memory, we might achieve a more direct perception of reality and a state of greater clarity. However, this would also mean losing the sophisticated context that helps us understand what we are perceiving. This raises an important question: How can we retain the useful aspects of memory without allowing it to weigh us down and dull our perceptions?

While some aspects of memory enhance perception, they can also lead to mental complication, keeping us weighted down.

Emotional Attachment and Memory

Emotional attachment to memory, in particular, often leads to confusion in our perception. Memory, while useful for survival and learning, can also project us into the future, often in negative ways. Many of us overuse the ability to foresee future outcomes, living in states of paranoia and expecting the worst in any situation. Being stuck in either the past or the future keeps us from effectively connecting to the present moment.

But what would life be like without emotional attachment to memory? Many cultural narratives emphasize memory—advertisements encourage us to live our lives “creating memories,” as though memories were material commodities. But is this really how we want to live? Using our present experiences merely as fodder for future recollection robs us of both the present and the future. We sit idly, turning the pages of memory, rather than engaging with life as it unfolds.

Meditation and the Importance of Recognition

In meditation practice, recognizing our distraction is of utmost importance. It is unnecessary to berate ourselves for not being present. When we are distracted, we are given the opportunity to recognize that and return to the present moment. This process develops two essential functions of the mind: the ability to recognize an event and the strength to let go of attachment to it, thus returning to the present.

These two seemingly subtle aspects of meditation—recognition and letting go—can transform our lives by distancing us from the emotional baggage attached to past experiences. For example, when you see a rose, you might first recognize its beauty. If it has emotional resonance based on past experience, you might notice that as well. But returning to the present moment without attaching undue significance to the rose because of the past keeps your mind clear and balanced.

Consider a child bitten by a white dog. As the child grows older, they may retain an irrational fear of white dogs, which might even extend to other animals, like white cats or other dogs. The trauma attaches itself to the body, and the memory of that experience continues to cloud perception. While this process is a sophisticated mental development, it is not always helpful.

The key is recognition: recognizing the fear, recognizing the white dog, recognizing the potential irrationality of the fear, and then letting go. Each step brings us closer to direct perception—closer to what is actually happening now, free from the distorting influence of past trauma.

Loosening Emotional Attachment

For meditators, difficult choices must be made. We must ask ourselves whether we are truly living in the present moment or if we are stuck in a cocoon of past experiences that cloud our perception and unconsciously motivate our actions. While emotional connection to life is important, it is equally important to let go of the attachments that pull us away from the present moment.

No matter how beautiful or profound a moment is, our experience of life is temporary. Loosening our attachment is essential. One way to do this is to reduce our tendency to assign significance to everything. For instance, we may adopt beliefs such as “this is God’s plan” or “this must mean something important,” adding layers of meaning where they may not be necessary.

I recall once being nervous for an audition and, in a state of fear, finding a feather on the ground. I kept the feather and subsequently passed the audition. Afterward, I began seeing feathers before other important moments, believing they were signs of good luck. However, a friend eventually pointed out that they were pigeon feathers, common all over the sidewalks of New York. In my panic, I had ascribed significance to something entirely mundane.

By loosening this need for meaning, we can move through life with greater clarity and freedom. We no longer need to grasp for confirmation of our significance in the world. Instead, we gain confidence by recognizing and letting go, allowing us to connect with the present moment fully.

In this way, meditation helps develop a lightness and clarity in our perception and, consequently, in our lives.

YA GOTTA HAVE HEART

The perennial Broadway musical Damn Yankees had a signature song,”You Gotta Have Heart,” which was sung by a group of underdog ball players trying to summon the courage to beat the fearsome Yankees in the big game. It was a beautiful, heartfelt moment in an uplifting musical. The key theme was the connection between heart and courage, the spirit to face and rise above challenges.

In those days, particularly in New York City, baseball inspired a sense of loyalty, camaraderie and courage. In a memory burnished into the hearts of sports lovers forever, Babe Ruth famously pointed to where he intended to hit a home run in a 1932 World Series —and then did just that. This kind of magic requires immense courage, but not aggressive courage. It’s a courage that comes from the heart. The root of the word “courage” is cor, which means “heart” in Latin and has similar meanings in French and Old English. So, to have courage is to have heart. It’s a joyful bravery that arises from deep within us, overcoming doubt and confusion. If Babe Ruth had been uncertain, he wouldn’t have been able to point to that spot with such confidence. Confidence, courage, heart—these are the topics of today’s post.

There’s a beautiful moment in Peter Jackson’s Beatles documentary Get Back where John Lennon, recording the song “Don’t Let Me Down,” turns to Ringo and asks him to crash the cymbal on the downbeat to give him “the courage to come screaming in.” Here is a man who was part of the greatest songwriting team in history, arguably the most famous rock star of his time, a millionaire, a published author—yet he still felt insecure enough to ask for that symbolic gesture. This moment reveals that courage from the heart encompasses our insecurities, acknowledges our frailties, and allows us to move forward despite doubt.

When faced with overwhelming challenges, we can either brace ourselves and charge forward or, more mindfully, open our hearts, relax, and smile at our fears, stepping forward nonetheless.

“You Gotta Have Heart” was the standout moment in the musical because it inspired the audience. It was uplifting and exhilarating, but more importantly, it encouraged a sense of collective spirit. Conversely, when poorly conceived, aggressively executed acts of bravery occur, they often create division. Some people build communities around what they hate, using those objects as sacrifices to summon dark intentions. When politicians demonize aspects of society to rally support, they act from aggression, not heart. Acting from aggression means denying our own vulnerabilities and leaving little room for others to open their hearts in return. For many, the idea of opening their hearts feels threatening and exhilaratingly dangerous, leading them to avoid vulnerability altogether.

On a personal level, many of us close down our hearts under a false sense of bravery to focus on issues. We seek approval from others, rallying friends who will uncritically support our views, reinforcing our grievances against those we believe have wronged us. While this may create a temporary swell of approval, it is ultimately hollow and fleeting, leaving us feeling manipulated. This might not feel like aggression; it could feel like passion for a cause. Yet, in such moments, we often fall into the trap of preaching rather than sharing something personal.

When we fail to take ownership of our fears, doubts, and insecurities—often because we are unaware of them—we prevent others from connecting with us. Instead of inviting a dialogue, we simply inform others of our views, using our intellect as a shield to guard our hearts. Genuine communication depends on allowing space for everyone to process their own feelings. Otherwise, it risks becoming coercive. When we are passionate about something, we might push our views forcefully, trying to impose our “truth.” However, there is no absolute truth; what matters is acknowledging our feelings and understanding.

Having the courage to sit with our feelings and embrace our doubts, insecurities, aspirations, and desires is incredibly powerful. From a Buddhist perspective, we strive to embody the middle way, recognizing that falling into either extreme—over-expressing the heart or retreating into the intellect—can hinder communication. When we are deeply in our hearts but lack awareness, it can become overwhelming for others to engage. The middle way allows us to hold both extremes in a state of resolution, enabling clear expression and deep feeling.

In ideal discourse, it is important for others to pause and fully process the points expressed. Coming from the heart requires time for the body and mind to register the experience. Conversely, when we engage solely from our intellect, conversations can become cold and rapid, leading to confusion and emotional hurt. By incorporating the heart, we slow the process down and allow feelings to surface.

In the Dharma Junkies weekly group, we encourage people to speak from an “I” position, expressing how they feel. This approach makes their expressions inviolable, as no one can argue with one’s feelings. We take ownership of our emotions without expecting others to validate them. Equally, we create space for each person to share their own truth, free from argumentation, allowing their truths to resonate with others. This space is a show of respect.

Another practice we maintain in our community shares is to avoid commenting directly on another person’s perspective. When someone’s viewpoint provokes personal feelings in us, we acknowledge their position and then share our own feelings without comparing or contesting.

To communicate with courage means to speak from the heart, grounded in clarity, while allowing our words to be heard—and accepting whether they are received or not. This path can be lonely, as the warrior knows only their own feelings and heart, taking responsibility for them and offering them to others.

In group dynamics, addressing an audience or community can become cold when we rely too heavily on intellect. Conversely, when we come from the heart, the communication becomes warmer and more resonant. However, if we delve too deeply into our emotions, it can become overly personal, hindering effective communication. Balancing intellectual exploration and emotional depth is crucial, as both extremes primarily serve our own needs. To truly connect with a group, we must be willing to step beyond our insecurities into clarity.

Or, “Ya Gotta Have Heart. Miles and Miles and Miles of heart.”

 

The Art of Changing

Say You Want a Revolution?

“You say you want a revolution, well you know, we’d all love to see the plan.”

— John Lennon

 

We’ve talked about stasis and change: the need to regroup, find a home base, and connect with ourselves. Naturally, this leads to a desire to move beyond that base and explore new horizons. Interestingly, I personally struggle with both the claustrophobia of a static environment and a reluctance to change it. It’s a tough bind.

Often, when we feel the itch to break away from our home base, we fantasize about a new place we’d rather be—a new partner, a new job, or even a new body that will transform us into something… what exactly? “Once I transform my body, I’ll find the job that leads to a new partner.” Meanwhile, I stay stuck because instead of tackling one thing, I’m layering conditions: I can’t do this until I do that, but I can’t do that because of something else.

Clearly, I haven’t mastered the art of change. Maybe it’s not laziness or incompetence; maybe I’m trapped in a pattern and don’t know how to break free. The first step is to settle down. Struggling doesn’t help—working does, but only in a clear direction. Instead of pursuing six different goals at once, I could pick one and encourage myself to move forward.

Are you stuck in a pattern, or even a series of patterns that feel immovable? A mindful investigation of being stuck involves unpacking and examining how we got here. What are we doing in our struggle to free ourselves, like being trapped in a Chinese finger trap? Is it productive or just uncomfortable? Let’s explore.

First, we’re in a state of non-acceptance, which triggers unhelpful struggle. Ironically, before change can happen, we must first accept where we are. One major obstacle to acceptance is our unexamined fantasies about what we think we want. I remember once trying to pursue my dream of working in independent films. Transitioning from stage and comedic improv to the detail-oriented world of film shoots—and I hated it. I also couldn’t stand the endless cycle of auditions. What I loved was being in creative flow, not the grind of auditioning.

This isn’t a judgment of those who thrive in film work, but an acknowledgment of my own discomfort. What’s important is that my fantasy was entirely different from reality. I once attended a coaching workshop with a former extreme fighter pilot who became a commercial airline pilot. He said, “My life now feels like driving a bus across a desert—endlessly, monotonously.” Reality didn’t match his childhood dream.

Fantasies aren’t reality because we don’t truly examine what they would cost us or entail. They provide a direction to head toward but aren’t the destination. As I’ve heard it said, “A fantasy without a plan is a hallucination.” Hallucinations can be interesting, but they’re not a viable life plan.

The first step in creating change is accepting where we are—not by endorsing or trying to like it, but simply grounding ourselves in reality. From here, fantasies can become inspiration, not burdensome expectations. A view of a mountain might inspire us, but it doesn’t have to be a goal we must reach—it’s just a direction.

Accepting where we are, and being inspired by new possibilities, are the first steps. Once we’ve determined our direction, we can move authentically toward that view. But to make it a reality, we have to overcome the resistance to movement. Even when we want change, parts of us—often unconsciously—resist it.

A teacher once said, “Obstacles are meant to be difficult. What kind of obstacle worth any merit would be easy?” Instead of seeing resistance as self-sabotage, it’s more helpful to understand it. Seeing where we apply the brakes without judgment helps ease the process forward. Fear of change is natural.

I’ve identified three categories of resistance: mind, spirit, and body. These are foundational in meditation, Buddhism, and yogic philosophy.

Starting with the mind, we often assume that just knowing we should lose weight, get a job, or leave a relationship will make it happen easily. But unaddressed fears and obstacles stop us. The mind can see the view, but it also needs clarity. “I want my life to change.” Okay, but what specifically do I want to change first? For me, it’s my health and well-being, including my diet, as I’m overweight. But dieting alone doesn’t work long-term—it usually backfires. That’s because the spirit or heart isn’t fully aligned with the mind’s goals.

Once the mind clarifies its wants, we need to ensure we believe in them. This requires self-reflection and doing things for personal growth, not for external validation. What do I really want?

On a spiritual level, we face early fears or unmet needs that resist change. We need to negotiate with those parts of ourselves, assuring that this change is for our best interest. This could be as simple as telling ourselves, “I love you, and this is the best step forward.” Spiritually, we must avoid negativity and self-judgment. It’s about deeply coming on board with our vision of change.

Finally, the body is the most ancient part of us, focused on survival. It resists change, even though change is necessary for thriving. This is why sticking to simple changes like exercise can be so hard. The body responds to force but often reverts to comfort.

In substance abuse counseling, a 90-day commitment to sobriety is often recommended because the body needs time to adjust. This three-month period is crucial for the body to embrace a new pattern.

The mind might think it controls the body, but the body operates on its own terms. We need to slow the mind to the level of the heart, and the heart to the level of the body, to truly enact change.

The social and political implications are clear. Before we can change anyone’s perspective, we must first understand their needs. Calling someone a fool for holding different views achieves nothing. The “other party” might not support their leader as much as they yearn for change. How can we encourage that change to benefit everyone?

Struggle can strengthen, as a butterfly gains the power to fly by pushing out of its cocoon. Change may require effort, but it doesn’t have to be self-defeating if we know where we’re going.

We’d all love to see the plan.