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.
So, let’s break down the components of this elephant. The elephant stands on the notion of a “self“. At some point in human evolution we became conscious. That localized sense of perceiving began to organize itself into an entity that is aware of itself. This allowed us a vantage from which to navigate an otherwise unmanageable sea of possibility. Yet, that navigation comes at the cost of limiting those possibilities. This notion of self is a necessary limitation in order for consciousness to have a reference point. Ego is a further limitation of those possibilities. Ego happens as self-awareness becomes a self-consciousness that assumes itself to be self-existing. This assumption of “me” can become a self-referential closed loop that reduces awareness to specifically localized points of view. The ego works as a set of patterned functions that reduce what we see of the world. We conflate reality down to serviceable quanta which, in turn, are seen as a means to serve our perceived compensatory needs. These perceived needs are generated to compensate for feelings of lack or vulnerability. In other words, we see what we are conditioned to see and generate feelings that prompt reactions. We generally do this all without much investigation.
The antidote is to stop. Allow a gap. Breathe out. Drop into ourselves and feel ourselves in our body. That is much closer to reality than circular, ego world building. Just drop it. Come home, and be here. This act of self love will allow the elephant to rest. When the elephant rests we can look around and see the world as it is.
After years of study, training and ascetic discipline, the Buddha began a 49-day yogic meditation fast. During this time, he gained mastery over his body and attained relative mental clarity. But, as he was at the point of death, he did not have the strength to fully cross over into awakenment. Perhaps knowing that his work was not about his own accomplishment, but that his quest would be to reach a state that would allow him to help others, he broke his vow and accepted a bowl of rice from a young woman. It wasn’t until he accepted this sustenance that he had the strength to attain full realization.
Therefore, as the Buddha’s teachings developed, the methods changed. Zen Buddhism is different from Vajrayana Buddhism, which is different from Theravada. Buddhism in the west is its own expression. The commonality to all of these expressions is that they are rooted in the belief that we are born as we should be and our lives can be led by a path positioned toward greater awareness of ourselves and our world. Each expression of Buddhism has its own methods. It is considered a rookie mistake to be an unwavering adherent to any method. Renunciation is not abstinence. Renunciation stepping back from an attachment in order to see more clearly. Sometimes this happens all at once, and sometimes incrementally. Renunciation may require abstinence in some cases. or for some period for those who cannot work safely with the person, place, or thing. There is no shame in that. But abstinence is not the point. The point is liberation. And liberation is not another jail we place ourselves in. Liberation is the vast space beyond our imprisonment that we can grow into.
The key is developing surety in our commitment to remain present whenever we can and to return as quickly as we can when we are not. The gentle insistence is how we combat the aggression of our world. Does that sound impractically pollyannaish? Confucius would remind us that the gentle persistence of the river will cut through a mountain over time.
A worldly path to perfection is quantifiable in comparison to our world. As vicious as it may be, it is comforting to judge our progress with standard quantifiable metrics. Are we becoming richer, thinner, or more popular? Do our peers turn their heads in admiration, or avert their glances in disdain? Whenever we have the wherewithal to stop and look, are we able to see our world? Or do we only see how far up the ladder we are?
A slow uncovering of the wounds that bind us, is an apt description of the path of compassion. Understanding and transforming our pain is a common motivator for the path. Many of us came to the path because we were in pain. There is nothing like a broken heart to introduce us to meditation. But once that heart has mended, or once we get tired of that broken song, what is it that prompts us to continue on the path?
So how can we help anyone, when we ourselves are wounded? We talk about “opening the heart”. But what does that mean? Usually, this statement evokes feelings of empathy, communication, and kindness. But doesn’t opening the heart also release the pain that we have been protecting and the suffering we are protecting ourselves against? When we began the path our wounds were the source of antagonism and aggression. In an attempt to protect ourselves from a future projection of past violence we struck out against actual or imagined danger. However, it may be that these wounds are also the source of empathy, communication, and kindness. The “Lion’s Roar” may be that the wounds we guard in embarrassed secrecy may be our gateway to compassion. When we have worked the path of self-discovery, we get what it is to be human. And because of this, we understand what humans need. Opening the heart is simply relaxing the protective tension with which we gird ourselves. As this cocoon is protecting us from real, imagined or remembered pain, we must respect it. Opening the heart is not about aggression at all. Opening the heart is acceptance and release.
Pema Chodron speaks of suffering as having created a wound in our heart. All of us have those wounds. Pema suggests that we cover the wound to protect it, as we would a physical wound. However, with a physical wound we remove the bandaid for it to heal under the sun. But emotional wounds often remain covered, and so healing is compromised. We become embarrassed of the wounds, somehow believing we are the only ones. Because they don’t heal in the shadows, the wound becomes sensitive to touch. We are constantly bumping into the wound, and flincing through life trying to protect ourselves from the pain. This creates more suffering. Yet, the saddest part of this is how we are denying the very thing that makes us unique. No one notices perfect trees in the forest. We notice the trees that are gnarled and curled from lightning, bent by wind or darkened by fire. These trees have character. And our pain gives us character. Lightning struck trees don’t feel embarrassed about themselves. Nor do three legged dogs. Nor do blues musicians, or poets as they express their pain. Is there a form of life on earth that judges itself as much as humans do? There is a song by The Big Moon that goes “trouble doesn’t last forever. The trouble is that memories do.” 
deadly conditions and extreme energy, yet the mountain is seemingly still. It serves to inspire and guide us. It is not hurrying or competing. And should we be drawn to climb the mountain; haste would not be in our favor.
A kinder, and vastly more productive, approach would be to employ mindful awareness to relax into a flow state that optimizes our experience and honors our existence. We are able to stand up and hold ourselves with dignity and grace. I had a teacher that suggested I slow down enough to move quickly. This is pausing just enough to synchronize with our mindfulness and awareness. Then when we are interrupted, we can respond intelligently with consideration. We say considerate because we are considering a fuller situation before we react. When our mind is racing, we don’t have time for that we’re rushing down the street late for work and pushing people out of the way or cutting off cars on the road, without any regard for the basic human relationships that make us feel confident and strong. The more we push our life out of the way so we can force our agenda the more we are robbing ourselves from the fundamental sustenance of our life. That sustenance can only come from being grounded. It’s as if we’re pulling the nutrients up from the earth. But we can only do that if we’re synchronized with the earth. When we are synchronized, we are present, and the game slows down. We see that we have more options than the panicked reactions that come from speed would reveal. When we are grounded, we are able to consider more helpful approaches.
One thing that blocks the flow state for us is this feeling that we are pressured and have to make an immediate decision. We have to act immediately without pause, without thought, without consideration. When we’re running late, miss the train and we’re delayed another 8 minutes we stand on the platform looking up at the clock, tapping our feet. The speed and constriction that we become addicted to slams us into survival mode. Our options are reduced to fight flight or freeze. When something stops our momentum, we either lash out, run away, or freeze in a PTSD trance. The remedy is to boycott reaction, pause and breathe. Feel your feet on the ground. Come back. Then we can respond. 
actually have a considered response. It might be offering some counterpoint, it might be walking away, or it might be simply waiting in space until the next right action becomes clear. Once we make an offering of our anxiety our fight flight freeze reactions are transformed. We’re using the same mechanism of reactive mind but because we’ve paused and synchronized, we’re able to use these impulses with executive reasoning. Fight turns into expressing our point of view, flight may be that we can walk away. Retreat is not surrender. Retreat is simply stepping back to regroup. And freeze might simply be resting here. This is not a PTSD trance state where we can’t move but a loving pause where we have the option to do nothing but remain present. Not to react, but just simply to wait. And that waiting is the essence of patience. If we learn to pause when we’re triggered, we might find that we’re more patient at stop signs, more patient in the subway and more patient with our life.