Right Action in the Face of Hatred
I woke up today feeling crushed. It’s odd to wake up in the sweaty arms of defeat. Then I sat for morning meditation and a personal check-in. Feelings are part of our reality—but they are not reality. They are expressions of a part of our being that is constantly changing. However, when we become triggered, our feelings solidify into narrative environments that we interpret as reality.
We freeze, believe, identify. Then we’re off to the races as we script our story with ourselves as the protagonist, whether it be victim or hero. The more we are triggered, the more our universe feels real. But what’s real is that we are at the center of that universe. This very solid Me rolled from bed into a universe of defeat.
However, once I sat for my morning meditation and adjusted my posture, my brain changed. A posture of gentle confidence changes the perspective. Seat your ass, and your mind will follow. As my mind relaxed its grip, I could see how exaggerated feelings like fear and doubt had been obscuring gratitude, clarity and strength. I did a “check-in and simply noted what I saw and felt—without interpretation. Just so. This is what there is. Sadness, fear, anxiety. But also, calmness, clarity and gratitude.
And none of my feelings accurately predict the future.
We live in violent times, and often feel beaten down even when we’re not directly affected. Fear inflames our feelings and makes them personal. This is not new. In my childhood, progressive leaders were murdered in the streets. Four unarmed students were shot for protesting a war in which their country poured napalm on villages. The 1970s brought recession; only three decades before, a full depression. African Americans have long faced violence from neighbors, police, and their own Armed Forces. Native populations have had their cultures starved into silence. An affluent Black district in Tulsa was looted and burned—and wasn’t widely reported for decades.
Violence and ignorance have always been a part of our country’s history. It’s just more meaningful when it’s happening to us. In real time. The immediacy intensifies its impact on our nervous system. We catastrophize, lose perspective, and imagine futures we cannot know. We see only what panic shows us and miss the fullness of our actual experience. We forget that it has always been this way and for some, its has been much much worse. Take this personally is profound egotism. It’s not about only ourselves. It’s about our world, and our ability to remain strong in the face of the storm.
But, we are part of our world, and so Compassion begins with us. Not exaggerating our self importance and our pain, but activating our empathy. If we settle our heart, mind, and body, we can see past the fog of panic. By simply taking our seat and sitting tall, we access natural wisdom. That’s wisdom, not wisdoom. Not believing the worst, but seeing what there is – everything there is. Like sediment settling in water, clarity dawns. We see what is—not an exaggeration of fear.
Wisdom is seeing without judgment or expectation. This kind of seeing, beyond self-interest, is foundational to what the Buddha called right action. It’s tempting to go numb or reactive. To armor ourselves in ideology or turn away. But there’s another response. A deeper, braver one:
Compassion.
When we freeze or fight, we can pause, take our seat, and choose to respond. Compassion isn’t weakness. It isn’t blind forgiveness or passive acceptance. It’s not about being nice.
Compassion is a revolution.
Not one that screams or fights fire with fire, but a revolution of presence. A rebellion against dehumanization. A refusal to become what we oppose. It asks us to see the humanity in those who suffer—and sometimes even in those who cause suffering—without condoning harm or retreating into neutrality.
This kind of compassion isn’t sentimental. It’s a discipline. A practice. A path.
True compassion doesn’t dull our edge—it sharpens it. It helps us respond with precision and clarity. With compassion, our actions become more effective. Without it, we risk replicating the patterns we seek to dismantle. We fight fire with fire until everything is ash. With compassion, we fight fire with awareness, fierce love, and sanity.
The world doesn’t need more opinions. It needs grounded hearts. Hearts that can grieve. That can see suffering behind violence. That can stand up without being poisoned by hatred. That won’t be swayed by stupidity or false logic.
Compassion is bravery.

It’s brave to keep the heart open when it would be easier to shut it down. Brave to meet anger with understanding—not because we’re doormats, but because we’re warriors of spirit. It’s brave to weep when the world breaks, and still choose to return to our cushion, our vow to remain undaunted.
We can’t fix a world that has always been broken. But we can stay present and do what we can. Freaking out helps no one. But sitting in silence helps only ourselves. If a monk gains enlightenment in a cave and no one hears it…? It’s said the Buddha was reluctant to teach after awakening. But continual supplications, and empathy for those suffering moved him to act.
Acting from a seat of wisdom for the benefit of others is compassion.
When we feel broken-hearted, it’s not a weakness. It’s a doorway to power. If you’re angry—good. Let that fire be lit by clarity, not hatred. Let it be tempered by practice. Let it protect and uplift, not divide and destroy.
Combining stillness of our being, the Clarity of our Heart and the courage of our heart. That is warriorship. That is strength.
In this violent time, compassion is not a retreat.
It is a revolution.
A radical act of presence.
A refusal to collapse into cynicism.
So breathe.
Feel your heart.
Let yourself care.
Let that care guide your words, your actions, your presence.
The world is aching for it.
Sit your ass, and your mind will follow.
Free your heart—and the world will follow.