Category: Performances

My personal meditation practice is based on two principles, mindfulness and awareness. Mindfulness is the grounding element that brings us back to the present. Awareness is the environment around mindfulness that lets me know when I should return, or when to let go. Awareness is seeing the trees and hills, it is feeling the wind, and noticing my thoughts like clouds drifting and reconfiguring in the space around me. If I get lost, distracted, or caught up in thinking, my meditation training reminds me to return to my feet on the ground, or my breath in my practice.

Of all the distractions in my life, my mind is the most seductive. I am perpetually engrossed in my thinking to the extent that if I was not a meditator, I likely would reside full-time in my head. While our minds are amazing tools, being lost there keeps us from accessing its power and potential. When I am lost anywhere, I am sucked into a part of my mind that cannot see beyond itself. This is to say I lose awareness. When I am unaware I am missing the beauty of my mind and my life. By cultivating UNawareness, I am putting my head in the sand, making myself vulnerable to danger. When I am not aware, a deep inner part of me becomes frightened. My reveries take on a paranoid hue as I succumb to anxiety about the future and regrets of the past.

The remedy, of course, is to return to the present. This is hard to remember when my mind is lost in its internal momentum, so the practice of mindfulness awareness reminds me that I can be aware of distraction and return to mindfulness in the present. This is a great gift.  In the present I am less anxious and more capable of dealing with challenges in my life. Awareness creates the present space that reminds me when I’m stuck somewhere that is not here. Mindfulness is the ground to which I return.  In meditation I return specifically to the breath, as the breath is reliably in the present. Awareness of breathing also grounds me in my body. While my mind is plotting, scheming and imagining my life, my body is actually experiencing that life. Becoming aware and willing to return to my body breathing is grounding my practice in the present. The body, like the breath it holds, is happening now.

However, in everyday life, it is very easy to ignore reality and become seduced by the world we create in the mind. Walking down the street it may be helpful to remember my feet on the ground so I can be part of the world that is actually happening. This return to my feet as I walk on the sidewalk is grounding. While it is impractical to concentrate solely on the sidewalk, it is helpful to remember to return now and again. This keeps the mind grounded enough to be aware of life around us without becoming distracted. We can use any object in the present as an object of mindfulness so long as we are not imagining it, but we are feeling it.  Rather than concentrate or focus on the present, I think it is more helpful to rest my mind on the present. LIke placing a loving hand on my body, I am coming into gentle contact with now. The body offers an experiential base to ground me in the present. Coming back to the breath, I am resting in the body.

Becoming aware of our body in practice allows us to further ground our experience. Embodied practice is more sustainable and secure than simply playing ping-pong between my thoughts and the breath. When I return to the breath, I have trained myself to feel the breathing and to make it a full body experience. Embodied practice is the ground for an embodied life. In our everyday life, we can return to the body as a full resonant container to ground our experience. When I coach folks on public speaking or performance I teach them to ground themselves on the earth and center their energy in the abdomen.  Diaphragmatic breathing is deeper and more efficient than our casual shallow breath. And speaking from the belly is more grounded and resonant than our superficial head voice. Speaking fro m the gut, we can be heard more clearly and we don’t need to shout. When people are unmindful of the body, stuck in the head they will shout to make a point, acting on anxiety. The voice becomes strangled and shrill. It is not resonant and is emotionally hard for others to trust. We are being spoken at. But, when I remember to come into the body, I naturally remember to realign my posture and open my channels. I speak from the body with authority. And when I am in authority in my body, I am less inclined to be hijacked by my brain. I remember my lines. I know where I am heading because I know where I am. I am here. I am here in my body now.

This is also practical off stage and off the cushion. When I am in my body I am home.  I feel safe and secure. My life has more resonance. And the body has many experiences happening now as reminders to return. I can return to the breath, or my feet on the ground, or my belly. I can become aware of holding tension in places and use that as a reminder to let on and come home. While I am experiencing my world, I am also in conversation with my embodied experience. This keeps me present and keeps me sane. My body is happening now. It is the earth I return to. My body is my home.

Mindfulness of body is resting on the foundation of mindfulness. From there we radiate out in awareness to our life with confidence and authority. Embodied awareness is knowing life as a fully present experience.

The warrior feels sadness for the suffering of beings, as well as the delight in the possibility of their awakening. 

    –  Sakyong Mipham. 

We are living with the heartbreak and outrage of the war in the Middle East. This refrain has repeated many times throughout my lifetime. As things change, they say, the more they stay the same. This time may be different.

This was the worst attack upon the Jewish people since the 2^nd world war. It will precipitate an intense retaliation which will rock the foundations of world security. All this is happening in the shadow of the invasion of Ukraine that had shaken the world. AIt is also a time when technology has created more awareness and nuance than ever before. The world is either waking up or falling fast asleep. Or perhaps both. We have the setting sun approach turning toward darkness counterposed with the rising sun view of opening to possibility. We can take either position. We can take the easy approach of blaming a group and wishing for their eradication or we step back and try to see more clearly with eyes of healing and compassion. And just like any of us waking up on a spiritual journey, we will see harsh realities along with positive development. It is important not to latch onto solid propositions. As we develop spiritually, one of the things we are waking up to is the horror we are capable of inflicting.

This is not about the Middle East, or Eastern Europe. A murdered child was stabbed 26 times outside of Chicago ina misguided response to the crisis. People throughout the U.S. are arguing positions for one side or the other. There may likely be more violence throughout the world. This is who we are. Violence to one wounds us all. Sometimes violence is necessary. But only when it is clear sighted and free of hatred. When we are filled with anger and range acting is our first impulse. But it may be the last thing we should do.

Past trauma will fester ingrained beliefs that often ripen as a basis for a next generation’s identity.  Clashes between race, nationality, creed, economic and social stratification have been common to societies throughout history. The development of human societies is a violent confluence of currents that crash, conflict, and sometimes meld into each other. The turbulence of water flowing into water. Through this mixing we try to maintain the uneasy balance of protecting identities while engaging with a larger world.

It is becoming clear that anyone left out of engagement with their world, without the comfort and security and having less than those around them become angered.  Whenever we are gauging our life by others, we are losing.  So anger may seem like strength. But anger makes us ripe for manipulation. Whether a loner in their basement gathering information from the web, or a child in poverty throwing rocks at tanks in Gaza, those who believe they are powerless will hold to a belief, a flag, a slogan, or a group with which to identify. This identification brings a temporary sense of security and power. But we are giving away ourselves and our higher power. Abdication of personal strength never makes us secure. Nor is there any power when we are being manipulated.  We are merely swept along, lost in the rush of momentum. The child strapping munitions to their vest or carrying an automatic weapon into their school is not evil. They are not insane. They are broken and have allowed themselves to be swept away. Whether from the internet or a megaphone, they have been steered by rhetoric. They are chasing the illusion of power.

People chasing an illusion of power must do so because they feel they have none. Yet no one is truly powerless. As long as we’re alive we have the strength of our own spirit. We have the strength of our soul. We have the strength of our basic goodness and a higher power that is our human birthright. We can develop ourselves on a path of wisdom in order to foster the great strength of awareness and compassion. Granted, this might seem pollyanna-ish or inaccessible to those whose lives are in turmoil or danger. And each of us are in danger sometimes. Each of us has our thinking obscured by the wrong view from time to time. Each of us becomes manipulated by misinformation, for a great source of misinformation is our own mind. We give up our freedom and our power every time we latch on to easy slogans or pat answers.  We give up our power when we let anyone or anything else decide our fate. We give up our power when we talk ourselves into defeat.

For meditators it is important to learn the distinction between our wisdom mind and its dependent blah-blah sibling. With meditation, we develop the stability to have the clarity to see what is. We gain access to our higher mind and this engenders a strength of mind that in time will be our true power. This is the power to remain true to ourselves and open to others. And like a Buddha, the onus on those waking up is to care for those less awakened. Compassion is not an elitist system. We are each trying to help another up the mountain. If one fails, it is a failure for all. Not everyone is in a position to develop themselves spiritually. And there are those who will use their awareness to manipulate others. This is awareness with an egregious blind spot, and it is very dangerous. It is manipulation masquerading as compassion. Manipulating others or being manipulated by others is not freedom. Freedom comes when we have the humbleness to know that we have much to learn and the willingness to remain open in order to do so. And along the way, we develop real respect for ourselves and grow into the leader the world needs. Awareness is not an assumption of power or stature. Awareness is a responsibility.

As we journey up the mountain our view changes. We begin to value possibility.  Instead of defensive protectives, we start to see the commonality in all humanity. We see that we are part of a greater whole. We are part of an experiment by the cosmos to develop wisdom and begin to see itself.  But in order to do this we have to understand a very simplistic binary: acknowledge the mind that keeps us locked in suffering, but follow the higher mind that leads to clarity and strength. While the shadows of our past are still an influence, we can develop the power to look ahead toward a bigger view.  No one looks out from the top of the mountain and says, “this sucks”.  Sure, we may see all the refineries and junkyards but the view from above is nonetheless beautiful. In time, we will see more of the war and hatred people still rage upon themselves. But we will also see trees growing and life blooming. All of life needs to defend itself, and all life yearns to grow. This higher mind cares naturally for the world.  And even as it hurts deeply for its suffering it rejoices in its liberation. We are evolving.

And as we evolve, it is up to those who have the good fortune to be able to foster awareness to develop the compassion to help others develop wakefulness. The opposite, of course, is always possible. Like a shadow following behind as we travel toward the sun our defensive mind is ever there, ready to pounce. We can fall backward. In our confusion we might choose the setting sun of slogans and simple answers. We might choose death. And, if we do this often enough the earth, who gave us life, will take the hint and rescind our lease. Then she will move on to her next experiment.

But should we choose to follow a path beyond our self-interest, we might become stewards of the world. We can be shepherds of her people. And when that is too grand for our personal circumstances, we can turn to ourselves and work to develop our own personal freedom. There is no fault in this. Personal liberation (so so tharpa) is the basis of compassion. Compassion is the supreme thought of healing this fractured world. We may not be able to do this ourselves, but by raising our sights to its possibility, we are learning to understand more of ourselves. And if we can add some positivity to the profusion of negativity we may influence the course of our evolution as a species.

This post is dedicated to two women who were the seminal influences for the Dharmajunkies community. Michelle Killoran and Dr. Jamie Zimmerman were amazing beings who passed from this world instantaneously and unexpectedly, leaving a hole in the circle of my heart. A hole I choose to not fill. A hole they let their light in. A space I will cherish.

In the 90’s I lived in a meditation center in the Rocky Mountains. What was then known as The Rocky Mountain Dharma Center, was based on the Shambhala Buddhist Tradition and catered to a variety of communities. Each year a group of college students from Chapman University in California came for a 10 day immersion in the healing arts we called “Ancient Wisdom, Modern Madness.”Or program introduced a variety of ancient traditions from Buddhist teachings of Trungpa Rinpoche and Sakyong Mipham to the African tradition of Malidoma Some’. The director of the program was Michele Killoran, who was to become a major influence on my life. She had been leading the “Chapman Program” for a decade, when she picked me to be her successor. I was very new to teaching but my youth gave me entry into the students’ trust and heart. I immediately felt a kinship with them. And this was the first principle in the healing circle: trust born of heart connection.

MIchelle introduced me to the wisdom of the self-healing circle. Community circles are employed in many traditional cultures, including the Native American, First Nations, African Shaman  and Tibetan Buddhist traditions. These were introduced to the students both academically and experientially through ritual, meditation and study.  It was our goal to not only impart knowledge, but to allow the wisdom of these traditions to fundamentally affect the students. I first met hearts with Michelle as I sat across her kitchen table. I was very agitated and had come to her for what I thought would be good advice, herbal tea and hippie healing.  I sat there bundled stubbornly in my pain unable to listen with my heart. I tried to impress and compete with her, which was all I knew of how creating a human connection. I was getting more and more tense. Finally, she took a persimmon from a bowl of fruit on the table between us and told me to hold it. She told me to be quiet. Close your eyes, she said. Eventually she removed her hands. I sat holding that soft yet firm fruit that felt so alive, like the heart of a child. I don’t remember when I began to cry, I just seemed to awaken in tears with the feeling of being firmly, yet lovingly embraced by the earth.  Her eyes were open and clear, radiating warmth and acceptance. Her silver woven hair billowed like smoke as the afternoon light came through her kitchen window. Her husband Eamon was a sailor who followed her calling far from his port. But, he was home with her, as was all who knew her. She was his ocean. She was my earth.

Essential elements compliment and balance each other. The next idea of the Healing Circle is returning to balance. Healing is coming back to balance. Earth balances fire. Water balances wind. The Healing Circle is balancing the elements in nature. Most Asian healing systems refer to the elements and to balance.

MIchelle showed me the notion of the self-healing, self balancing community. Buddhists call this a mandala. Many indigenous traditions employ this principle, or their version of it. The mandala denotes a community or an environment that organizes around a primary principle. That principle may be a fire, a mountain, a lineage, a teaching, or an idea. In the Chapman program we used Wisdom as our organizing principle. Whatever tradition we introduced, we were looking to use it to develop wisdom. Wisdom is not knowledge. Knowledge is the map. Maps are important but they are the not the and they represent. The Buddhists talk about fingers pointing to the moon. The finger is not the Moon. Truly seeing the moon, as we would at the RMDC on high alpine nights, is an experience. It is contact with something we can never own. Wisdom is knowledge married to experience. It is knowledge that happens within us. Wisdom changes us. In the Tibetan Buddhist tradition we refer to transmission as an instantaneous download of wisdom that affects our body, spirit and mind. A given student might experience transformation in a moment or over time. The ones who were open might experience a transmission from launching a bow in Kudo – a ceremonial Japanese archery, or from a rebirthing ceremony with Meledoma, in the sweat lodge or a fire ceremony. The transmission might occur in meditation, when we come back to the breath. If we are open enough transmission may happen as we notice a falling leaf or hear a bird sing.

My job in the community was to guide the students to openness. I would employ Tonglen and other heart opening – Bodhicitta – practices and try to allow everyone access to the energy via vulnerability and openness. Trungpa Rinpoche was an example of a master teacher who turned no one away and could speak to the wild and crazy as well as the cultured and sophisticated.  In this way, MIchelle accepted everyone into our circle. Yet she defended her students with a lioness’ strength keeping away all elements of distraction. The next point in a self-healing mandala is that while all who are within the circle are accepted fully and completely, yet in order to allow the community to feel safe enough to open their hearts, there are elements that would have to be kept out. Thus the balanced mandala has openings to communicate with the outer world, but also to restrict access. This is described by the iconic “enzo”or Zen circle, which is not a closed circle, but has an opening. The community needs connection to the world around it, but also needs to be safe within. And within that magical enclave, the open hearts connect to each other and by holding space, they allow each other to be seen and accepted. Being seen or heard without judgement or coercion is elemental to healing. Healing is community and connection. Madness, on the other hand, is bred in isolation. Isolation can be mental. We can isolate within learned logics that remain closed with no gate into larger reality. Many of us experience growth when we are forced into a larger frame by tragedy or discomfort. We are fired from a job or break up from a relationship that nonetheless leads to an entirely new iife once we heal enough to step beyond our patterns. Intermittent openness is essential to healing. Yet, too much openness creates too much chaos and erodes that sense of safety.

As important as a sense of safety is to healing, we can never completely seal ourselves from the world. Hence, we are never completely safe. Reality is ever-changing. We cannot escape that. Michelle died in her kitchen from a massive stroke. This eternal force of being was gone in an instant. Yet, echoes of her wisdom remain because the wisdom was not hers alone. She was the gateway to a universal humanness.

Years later, in New York City I met a woman named Jaime. She seemed a younger version of  Michelle, with flowing gold-woven hair and piercing bright eyes. She was a student of mine, who quickly became a colleague and finally my teacher. She was a shooting star that illuminated my life and then touched down in darkness, leaving waves of her benign effect on the world. She was our original co-teacher in Dharmajunkies, a group we founded on the idea of the sacred community circle. Jaimie and I taught together weekly on Monday nights and her heart touched everyone who came into that circle. Jaimie instructed us on how to speak with each other in ways that opened hearts and fostered heartfelt communication. Like Michelle, Jaimie was gentle and tough. She ushered our group away from competition and comparison. She taught us to support each other by maintaining an awake, loving space. She taught us deep listening.  She gave us the strength to be a community based on individuals who, like her, were entirely, completely, unapologetically themselves.

Jaimie left to lead meditation at ABC studios and to her own developing career. I never knew anyone who engendered so much good will everywhere she went. And she did this without ever being full of shit. She could talk shit with the worst of us, drink whiskey with the roughest, and fiercely protect her clan wherever she was.Jaimie was on vacation in Hawaii when she slipped on rocks overlooking the ocean, fell to her death, and was swept to her grave by Namaka, goddess of the sea. The hole she left in my heart will never be filled. Perhaps another key to the healing circle is that wounds need not be healed. That space need not be filled. That all is blessed just as it is. I suppose it is our work to remember that. Who are we bending ourselves to be? Who are we apologizing to? To whom are we explaining ourselves? And why?

The ultimate fruit of the self healing community is when we can step back into the world with remembrance of our natural human dignity and grace. LIke sitting before a campfire. Like watching a leaf fall. Like hearing the birds signal life all around us. Like holding a persimmon. Like resting in the arms of a good friend.

Like coming back to earth and opening to the vast sky.

LEAN ON ME, WHEN YOU’RE NOT STRONG.

Those of my venerability might remember the Bill Withers song. Withers voice was soft and strong and had such a rich timbre, you could feel the arms of his soul reaching out. Or perhaps it was his “Grandma’s Hands”,  another song about the lineage of being held with loving kindness. Yet, Bill’s kindness was not syrupy or sentimental. It was strong. Then, of course Ringo’s masterpiece, “Octopus’ Garden” was about how octopi attract and protect their mates by surrounding themselves with reflecting sea trinkets in a garden. For Ringo, who had grown up with poverty and illness, the song was about escaping a world of pressure to an undersea sanctuary of kindness and peace.

In the 90’s Veruca Salt had a song titled “Eight Arms To Hold You” which was the working title of the Beatles second film “Help” adapted from a line in the song “From Me To You”. There was little sentimental about Veruca Salt, who were direct descendants of the Riot Grrrls. Yet, the strength and ferocity of their music had the power of holding you as the world came crashing around. Kindness is strength. Caring is powerful. And compassion may be the bravest we can be. Compassion not only supports those we hold, but ourselves as well. We are empowered by the strength we feel as we are steadfast for those who need us.  There has been no greater feeling in my life than when I have been there for someone I loved.

Although, I frequently did mess that up by laboring over what I should do, or what I might say. Making it about myself.  We’ve all done this. We let our pride and self-interest distance ourselves from the simple act of holding another. When a frightened child comes into their mother’s room at night, they don’t need to be schooled in logic. They don’t need to be told their fears are misplaced. They need to be held. They need the strong arms of someone who loves them despite their fear. And when the fear subsides, they might need to walk back to their room. Loving arms know when to hold and when to let go. That is why the Buddhist teachings say that true compassion is a balance of wisdom and caring. In Vajrayana Buddhism we refer to the appropriate relationship to the teacher as “mogu”, which translates to longing and respect. Both ideas posit two conventionally counter-posed energies that create balance. In the former instance we have caring, which is our heart’s effort to hold another, combined with the wisdom to let go and create the distance we need to allow the other to grow. In the case of Mogu, we have the heart connection of love which is balanced by having the self-respect to not lose ourselves in that love. We also love our teacher but offer them the respect to protect their space and personal dignity. We respect our teachers by emulating their example as we grow into our own expression of dignity and strength.

Compassion is not co-dependence. True Compassion is strength.

When I was a boy my mother was young, beautiful and insecure. My father was away much of the time and during that time her life was unstable, chaotic, and chronically underfunded. Yet the love she held for her children was nonetheless unshakable. However, along with the strength of her love, her fear was also transmitted to us. Love and fear were her gifts. In the years that came my father’s career developed, and as it did our economic concerns lessened. And yet as he became successful he grew away from her.  Insecurities changed but fear remained impactful on our lives. Children love swimming pools but pools don’t care for them.  My mother’s love was ever present and yet her frightened loneliness was always there. Over time, her life became truly challenging. As if by some karmic plan she was forced from one insecure situation to another. And yet, it seemed her higher power had guided her to greater strength and independence. To her credit, my mother never became bitter or vindictive. And in time, she gained great power. She was a vessel of her belief and a loving support to her children, but also her world. I was always welcome in any of her humble homes. They always become our home.  Even as she had less material comfort than before the divorce, and even as her insecurities had, in many ways, come to fruition, my mother gained a spiritual strength that was an inspiration to all who knew her. She went from being a fire that offered love and pain to becoming to the earth itself, stable, loving and true.

Like any mammal, we humans feel more than we think. We think we know, but what we know is informed by how the instinctive way we feel about them.  feel a We feel love and we feel fear. And though our lower instincts drive us to self-protective, defensive acquisition, materialism does not calm our deepest fear and anything we achieve is never as healing to our spirit as being held in the arms of love. And nothing that strengthens us as much as leaving those arms to stand on our own. But the greatest expression of love may be when we share our strength with those who need us. Inside, no matter what we achieve for ourselves, we all yearn for the strength of a mother tigress resting with her pride. Or an octopus arranging its garden of sea glass for its bride. Or a fawn looking to its mother for guidance, protection, and love. When a newborn looks to a parent who loves them there is an energy exchange that is a transmission of one of the strongest forces in our world.  But that love heals the caregiver as it nurtures the child. We are strong enough to allow others in need to lean on us. Not collapse into us, or become dependent on us, but lean on us until we both become strong.

Holding others with our love is a love that holds the whole world.

The power of kindness often gets overlooked.

Kindness is accessed by gentleness, so we sometimes view it as inconsequential or miss it all together. Kindness doesn’t have as large a handle as aggression, so when push comes to shout, it’s a challenge to remember it’s simple power. We often regard kindness as something we’re ‘supposed’ to do or we use it as a placeholder for more active feelings that may later come raging to the fore. When kindness is used to deny our feelings we are being unkind to ourselves. We are trying a bit too hard to be civil. But if this is not how we really feel, then the other steel-toed shoe will drop. In all of these circumstances, we are being less than honest.

This is not genuine kindness.  Genuine kindness comes from kindness to ourselves. It is the honesty to accept how we’re feeling and the confidence to stand up and meet our world with a smile. Rather than using kindness as a default when we are too worried to speak our mind, we can lead with Genuine Kindness as a way of opening the door to our experience.

Genuine Kindness radiates naturally to others because it is based on kindness to ourselves. It comes from the sense of self-regard and confidence we build in our meditation practice. When we lead with kindness, we are expressing the bravery to lift our gaze and smile at the world. When we smile, we release natural endorphins that quell pain and encourage and open exchange with loving world. But, smiling works when the world is less than loving. We can smile at danger, smile at sadness, smile at aggression and as Trungpa Rinpoche said, “Smile at Fear.” When an actual smile is inappropriate, or would be mistaken as provocation, we can smile inside. We can look into the challenging places in life with optimism and grace. We can meet difficulties by supporting our health and wellness.

Regardless of circumstances, if our view is to lead with kindness and open into understanding, we demonstrate the confidence of a leader. In the Shambhala Buddhist tradition, we refer to warriorship. In this case, warriorship is not based on aggression or competition. We are not trying to best another or make ourselves more powerful than the present moment requires. We are opening to our fear, our doubt, our hurt with the bravery to accept our feelings. When we are insulted by another, who is it that is hurt by this if we remove ourselves as a target? When we fight back, we weaken ourselves and that aggression lodges in our system. Standing up to someone is not done by lowering ourselves. It is best done by rising up in confidence, accepting our own feelings, and remaining open. This is not easy. You might say rising up is a tall order.

Warriorship requires the self-discipline to not take everything personally. So rather than “trying to be kind” we are being kind to ourselves by not indulging in crap trading. We are not using kindness as a weapon, a ruse, or a ploy. We are not being kind as a placeholder until we go home and yell at the dog. We are avoiding aggression because it is an ineffective strategy. It doesn’t work. It only hurts ourselves. In the recovery tradition, they talk of “drinking poison and expecting the other person to get sick. The other person likely didn’t even know you were triggered. They are off, down the road to insult someone else. Meanwhile, you are up all night steaming and retelling the issue again and again. Maybe one of those retellings will tell it right, but I tend to doubt it. The next day we are likely to relive it all again by telling our friends. And our friends, of course, will be complicit in indulging the story. You may be looking for someone to agree with you and most people will do in hopes that the invective will end. They will cheer us on, without knowing any of the particulars, in hopes that it all will end.

Self-anger and self-affliction don’t help to defend ourselves. In fact, the erode strength and confidence. The more we beat up on ourselves, the weaker we get, and the more we feel victimized by the other. But chances are no one is doing anything to us but ourselves. And even if we were truly wronged beating ourselves up is no way to counter anyone else’s aggression. Kindness is the warrior’s sword. It is a way of disengaging from the aggression so that we can see things more clearly. When we are brave enough to stand in discomfort and respond with genuine kindness to ourselves and to the moment, we are building health and confidence. With confidence we are better able to defend ourselves. We act wisely and effectively instead of impulsively and self-destructively.  We are manifesting the warrior within us. I find it helpful to have an image in my meditation. A warrior queen, king  or nonbinary being with the power to enjoy life and the grace to dispatch aggression without aggression. Kindness evokes a great strength.

If you have been triggered and are carrying the poison around with you, there is a process you can go through. Find a quiet place in your environment and let your mind find its quiet place. Remove yourself from the fight and be inquisitive into your experience:

1. is my anger helping? what am I defending? was this actually personal?
2. what was my part in it? (did I provoke things? did I leave myself open to being triggered?)
3. can I accept my feelings as my own (feelings are not created by anyone, but we can hold to them and make them injurious to ourselves and others)
4. can I let my assumptions of the other go? can I remember that what they think of me is not my business?
5. can I regain my internal balance and strength?
6. can I open to the compassionate energy of the universe, in this very moment, in this very place?
7. will I choose sanity and balance or delusion and reaction?

When we are triggered, we are neurologically panicked and do not have easy access to serenity and peace of mind. When pressured, it is far easier to reach for the cudgel than to rest in the space of balance. When we are pressured, we react and want the world to react to us. With all kindness, I must say, this is very weak. The way of warriorship is to practice meditation regularly so that we are trained to respond with the space and balance that is self-kindness. From that high vantage, we can offer the world genuine kindness. This reflexively feels better than the afflictions we place ourselves in to. When we feel better, we are better, and it matters less what anyone did or didn’t do. That’s them. They are not my business. My job is not to figure out anyone else or to blame anyone. I feel as I feel. I can own that. My primary job is to be genuine and kind. From there I can see my world.

That lofty vantage is right here on the ground. When I am not defending myself, or attacking anyone, my view is expensive. I am open to all sorts of creative alternatives. I can find creative ways to respond, creative ways to disengage, or creative ways to defend myself. I can find creative ways to protect myself and care for those I love.

Those creative alternatives come as I stop defending, turn my mind to my higher power, and listen. That love is always there. All I need to do is remember.

“There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy”

Today we’re going to look beneath the matrix and perhaps begin to touch on the infinite and inscrutable world of what manifests as everyday life. Many spiritual philosophies see everyday life as the simple appearance of a deeper, more complex, structure. Hindus believe that there is a corresponding spiritual plane of existence which we were approximating in our temporal life. Christians believe that there are angels, saints and beings of a deific nature that communicate between us and an intelligent being that created us.

The Buddhists believe that physical forms are informed by non-cognitive realms similar to the Christian triad of Father, Son and Holy Ghost but without gender or personal designations. Buddhism is by nature impersonal. This does not mean that Buddhism is not concerned with interpersonal relationships, but it questions the ‘me’ designation we place on ourselves and our experience.  Simply said, ‘me’ is a designation I place on myself so I can understand you. And ‘you’ is a designation I place on everything ‘other’. This is a helpful, if crude, tool for understanding the complexities of our experience. However, from the Buddhist perspective we are so very much more than you and me. We are not separate at all, but interconnected with all reality. The problem is not that we formulate a template to communicate with others, but that we believe it. We believe we are separate and so life happens to us, or we gain mastery over the forces in our life. This dualism creates a two dimensional us and them antagonistic way of seeing the world. We so strongly attach the surface appearance of things, we are disabled from seeing the fullness of experience. Everything becomes a material we can use, or a transaction we can benefit from. This is called materialism. We so believe in things that we become a thing.

Yet the temporary nature of things, and the vastness and unpredictability of the universe and the great distance between all the things we believe to be real suggests there is more to life than we see.  Among the materials of life, earth, water, fire and air, there is a fifth element which is often overlooked yet is the most plentiful: space. The space between things. The space within things. Space is so integral to the ordering of the universe, the term quintessential, which means “fifth element”, is meant to convey the essence of things. The essence of things is not a thing at all.

Space is most often seen as distance. The vastness between bodies of the universe, or the vastness of the universe that folds the bodies as well as the vstnes within each body. In fact, space exists within all physical structures. The things we believe are real simply because they appear real to our senses are actually made of atoms. Atoms are very small designations, but much larger than the microscopic particles that comprise it.  But taking an atom as an example, the distance between its nucleus and the nearest orbiting electron would be as if the center of the atom was the size of a basketball placed in the center of Metro Life Stadium and the electron was orbiting around the stadium. Otherwise, the element that comprises the things we believe to be solid is itself 99% space. The vast amount of space within atoms, is also within the particles within atoms. The more science looks into our physical world, or the more it uncovers space. The more astronomers look into the universe, the more they discover space.

However, that space is hardly empty. The energy that keeps the nucleus of an atom together is known as the “strong force”, which is one of the four basic forces in the universe. Thuis force is so powerful that when it is erupted there’s a vast rip in the time and space continuum, such as the radiance of a star, or an atomic bomb.  In a controlled way, we are able to harness that incredible energy to provide lights, power and communications however. Space is hardly devoid of potential. The term “emptiness”, a designation used by western scholars, is a misnomer. It’s a way a materialist explains what they cannot quantify. It’s used as a conceptual designation to describe the indescribable. But emptiness is hardly empty.  Space is potential.

What does this have to do with washing the dishes?

Well, just as our physical world is made of unseen particles and energies, so our lives are motivated by karmic propensities we don’t fully understand. Our hearts are touched by feelings, most of which we are unaware. Unseen energy becomes manifest in the physical world like angels communicating the will of God, or the Holy Spirit transmitting the will of the father to the child. In Buddhism we refer to Sambhogakaya, the energetic realm that transmits from the vast emptiness of pure intelligence of the universe to all who are open enough to experience space in everyday life. Energies of the Sambhogakaya are felt as the vastness of the universe touches us through feeling and instinct, such as how we respond to music or to falling in love. Most of us misinterpret that sacred connection by taking things personally.  We turn universal love of the universe into a commodity we can barter.  We take the energies of the universe as proof that we are real. This is not to imply that we are not important, or that we do not exist. It means we are not as important as we think we are, and we do not exist as we think we do. It seems we misinterpret life’s experiences by making them about us. So, this divine communication with the absolute becomes twisted by self-referential concepts. We interpret the energies of the universe to mean things about ourselves and our society. Because of the specific makeup of human psychology, we bifurcate our experience into what Buddhism refers to as dualism. We create us and them and so become separated from the simple experience of being fully connected to our life. Everything in the conventional, societal mind is interpreted as for or against us. This means, whether for, against or neutral everything in our experience appears to be about us. This makes our mind heavy and our perception dull. We go through life disconnected and discouraged.

Conversely, when our mind, spirit and body are aligned they naturally open to the world. In meditation we are training the mind to synchronize body, feelings and life in the present. Body, spirit and mind are called the 3 gates. When these are aligned and open we are able to connect to our life as it is. When we are fully synchronized it is as if we are in a gap in our narrative. From that point, we are not interpreting reality. We are experiencing it directly. When we are fully open, we receive information as though it were a transmission. It comes through us, unblocked by our grasping, without reference to ourselves. We are the channel or the vessel. Getting to this state of complete openness is rare but happens more often than we realize. It is said, when students receive empowerment from their Lama, there is this conjoining of minds that occurs outside of conventional time.  This experience is said to happen at birth and death. It is also said to occur during an orgasm, or prosaically, when we sneeze. Anytime our body, mind and spirit are connected and fully open. Perhaps this is what happens when Pentecostals speak in tongues in tongues, or when shamans dance or Dervishes spin. It is not a mental experience alone, although in a Buddhist context, we are fully awake. When this moment of acute synchronicity happens it’s as though time pauses and the eternal passes through.

Yet, often when this moment of grace happens, we immediately label the experience and so miss the point. It’s like gasping at the incredible beauty of the Grand Canyon, and then turning to take a selfie. Usually, these gaps in our usual narrative are interpreted as being about us, and so we stomp on the preciousness of the moment by creating labels, context and concepts to smother them. We think this gap is either a problem or a blessing, but always in reference to ourselves as separate from all else. In this way our mind becomes dull, and our life ensconced in habit. It is the purpose of our meditation to begin to free the mind of its dualistic constraints and become spontaneous and clear. In the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, we refer to this as developing Pure Perception. We increasingly see our life as Pure Appearance.

The liminal space between waking and dreaming offers a glimpse of the dynamic interplay between realms of our experiences, or glimpses into the matrix, as it were. I love moments when my mind can glide there as if surfing consciousness. Over time, my meditation practice has led me to less interpreting and more experiencing. With less interpretation that world is more real and bright. With less dualism, there is less struggle. With more understanding of the interconnectedness of life, compassion becomes as natural as space itself.

I used to live life driven by expectation. Not just expectation, but outright demand. As you can imagine, I was disappointed much of the time. “It always breaks my heart in two. It happens all the time.”

That disappointment with life led to judgement, resentment, and blame. I blamed all the people in my life who refused to play along with my fantasies. I carried my resentments around like bundles of old laundry.  Which, you know, tended to smell. I got used to the smell and the effort, but other people tended to move away. This led to further resentment. “No one understands me.” Or, as Phil Everly wrote, and Linda Ronstadt so beautifully sang, “When will I be loved?” I remember thinking ‘easy for her to say’ as she was a heartbreakingly beautiful woman with a voice that could crumble mountains. Yet after a number of high-profile relationships, Linda never married, citing “the problem of finding someone that can stand you!” ‘Pick me! Pick me!’ I would think. But the truth is, I had relationships with wonderful people who nonetheless failed to meet the fantastical imaginings of my brain.

The fact that I took these relationships for granted at the time never stopped me from thinking back on what could have been afterwards. This game allowed me to fall deeper into the cycle of resentment.  And, in this way, I was never alone. I had all my bags of laundry. There really wasn’t room for anyone else. All my relationships involved group sex. Me, my partner, and everyone else yammering about in my brain. I needed to make room for myself  before I could find room for anyone else. Obviously, I had to clear some things out.

The path of meditation is one of deconstructing and decumulating rather than accumulating. We are such an acquisitionally oriented species, we find it hard to fathom releasing ourselves from the grip of things. Meditation practice encourages us to open up, release our panicked grip on everything and let go. Letting go is not pushing anything away. It’s not throwing out the emo-laundry. It’s about no longer carrying it around everywhere. Maybe we throw out some, give some away, take the time to clean and fold the rest. Some of this laundry has made us who we are. We all have that kid’s onesie or football jersey we just can’t part with. But all of us can make some room for us to breathe.

We can forgive some attachments however that shouldn’t keep us from becoming anything else we might become.

We keep ourselves from becoming all we might become when we lock ourselves in the vicious cycle of expectation. Expectation leads to disappointment, which leads to resentment, that leads to judgements of all kinds. Thus, many of us carry a dull weight everywhere. We find it hard to move on with life. This discouragement causes depression. And an easy fix is to assign blame.  But blame is self-aggressive and tends to add more weight. We give away our agency and power. We become hostages to our own mind and try to escape the weight with drugs, alcohol, chocolate, or emotions. But anything we do sends us careening away from ourselves. These strategies only add more weight.

The path of meditation suggests that none of this is wrong. Wow. Imagine. All this dysfunction and none of it is wrong?  But, if our lives are complicated by dysfunction then if we can’t love dysfunction, what can we love? These strategies are only attempts to shield us from ourselves. We are so worried about the disappointments that we blame ourselves. And blame is unbearable as long as we’re holding on to living up to the expectation of who we think we should be. What if we could let go of all the blame, all the expectation, all the discouragement and just allowed ourselves to become what we are? Imagine today is the beginning of a new life for ourselves, where instead of living up to our old ways of thinking, we allow ourselves to begin to see who we are? What if we started that process from believing in ourselves? What if our life was oriented toward our potential and away from disappointment?

Meditation practice offers us the perfect template to train our mind away for disappointment. Each time we come back to the breath we are boycotting the conflagration of compounded thoughts and feelings and simply return to now. Then we complicate again, of course, so then we return again to now. It’s like Buddha’s razor. Cutting back to the simplicity of now. Whatever we did then is past and trying to fix it is only a complication we don’t need. In science or philosophy “Occam’s Razor” is the notion that the simplest answer is best. Buddha’s razor is training our mind toward the simplest answer, which is always in the present. We cut back to now.

With meditation we cut complication to clarity. Clarity is space. And with space, we have more room. We might find the drawer space to put our clean sox. As our mind becomes organized, we might notice our room has windows. At some point, beyond the windows, we might see the possibility of life beyond resentment and blame.

There is an old Monty Python skit.  A dad and son are looking out a window of their stately manor. The dad says, “Son, someday all this will be yours.” And the son looks to his dad and says, “What? The curtains?” And then dad rejoins, “No. Beyond the curtains.” To which the son asks, “Oh, you mean the window?”

And this is how my life was for so long. Living in the tightly bound knot of fantasy, expectation, disappointment, resentment and depression. The only way to untie that knot was the repetitive and boring practice of Shamatha. Returning my mind back to now, again and again until I found the space to breathe.

The answer to Linda’s question of “when will I be loved” is now. And we are the one to do it. In fact, we are the only one. And now is where we start.