There is a still point of completeness within each of us. It has qualities of full heart; sharp, clear intellect; and kindness without agenda. Sometimes we get a glimpse of this still point without trying. A slant of light hits the floor and wakes us up. Time seems to stop. A cicada sings and the sound swells within us. We are suddenly present and aware in these moments, and would likely offer up much to remain this beautifully alive.
Stillness and completeness also emerge during times we’d least expect them. We receive word that somebody we love has been in an accident, but instead of shutting down, we stay open and move about with surprising calmness, knowing exactly what to say and do. This is because we all are fundamentally equipped for living and appreciating our life regardless of our life situation. We have the capacity to experience satisfaction from sunlight, from the taste of a juicy orange, even from dealing with the ups and downs of who we are. Simply being alive can be satisfying.
When we haven’t developed the quality of quieting ourselves so that we can feel satisfied by merely being alive, we don’t tap into this still point often and therefore may consider these moments as flukes. We can doubt our fundamental completeness and keep trying to muscle our way toward a good life by working harder, being nicer, thinking more, and so on. This is what we know to do; it’s the best we can do at the time. Considering the knowledge, self-awareness, amount of sleep, headache, stubbed toe, and whatever else may be occurring at the point of our every action, we are always doing our best.
All of you are perfect just as you are and you could use a little improvement.
-Shunryu Suzuki-roshi
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| I thought that the wig (me, lower right) made me look like a rock star. |
Of course we can always look back and wish that we had acted differently. Self-reflection, even it comes with a pang of regret, is perfectly fine and can set us on a path of making change. What doesn’t help us change is allowing regret to fester as guilt and beating ourselves up because we think we could have acted better and we didn’t. Remember, living as our highest self is a fluid process. At the point of our regret, we’re looking back as a different self.
In years ahead may we all look back from the perspective of our future best self and smile, or maybe even grimace, at everything that we are right now.
Call Me by My True Names, by Thich Nhat Hanh
Do not say that I will depart tomorrow—
even today I am still arriving.
Look deeply: every second I am arriving
to be a bud on a Spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.
I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death
of all that is alive.
I am the mayfly metamorphosing
on the surface of the river.
And I am the bird
that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.
I am the frog swimming happily
in the clear water of a pond.
And I am the grass-snake
that silently feeds itself on the frog.
I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.
And I am the arms merchant,
selling deadly weapons to Uganda.
I am the twelve-year-old girl,
refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean
after being raped by a sea pirate.
And I am the pirate,
my heart not yet capable
of seeing and loving.
I am a member of the politburo,
with plenty of power in my hands.
And I am the man who has to pay
his "debt of blood" to my people
dying slowly in a forced-labor camp.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.
