Make room for sadness

Sadness is powerful. It softens us when life is tough. It keeps us open when we’d rather shut down. Sadness is not the same as depression—not even close. When you're depressed you don't feel much of anything; when you're sad, you feel everything. 

A tinge of joy runs right through the heart of sadness. Chögyam Trungpa called this feeling sad-joy—the two being inextricable, a mixed blessing that makes us weep when we hear beautiful music or remember a lost love and smile.

Weeping may stay for the night, but joy comes in the morning. -Psalm 30:5

We can’t script sad-joy. We can only pause, slow down, and notice when it arises, then not rush away from what touches us. Sometimes it’s scary to open ourselves to sadness, but without it, our joy remains confined to us. With it, the heart breaks just enough for joy to spill out as kindness, as caring. 

May we be brave enough to let our hearts be softened by sadness.

Favorite tree: felled by tornado, 2012

Kindness, by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is

you must lose things,

feel the future dissolve in a moment

like salt in a weakened broth.

What you held in your hand,

what you counted and carefully saved,

all this must go so you know

how desolate the landscape can be

between the regions of kindness.

How you ride and ride 

thinking the bus will never stop,

the passengers eating maize and chicken

will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,

you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho

lies dead by the side of the road.

You must see how this could be you,

how he too was someone

who journeyed through the night with plans

and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,

you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.

You must wake up with sorrow.

You must speak to it till your voice

catches the thread of all sorrows

and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,

only kindness that ties your shoes

and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,

only kindness that raises its head

from the crowd of the world to say

it is I you have been looking for,

and then goes with you everywhere

like a shadow or a friend.

Do No Harm--to yourself

Doing no harm would require us to refrain from acting upon anything or anyone in a way that causes injury. What an amazing world that would be: No wars. No bullying. The earth experiencing renewal and healing. But what if we began the practice of not harming by simply not causing harm to ourselves—by not engaging in even the subtle ways that we injure our own mind, body, and heart? 

What if instead of working too many hours, rushing around with too many things on our to do list, or overextending ourselves to others while ignoring our own needs, we practiced slowing down and getting enough sleep? What changes would take place in our relationships, in our workplaces, and in our homes if we said No more to foods that keep us bloated and dull, and Yes to drinking enough water to hydrate the trillions of cells depending on us? 

Speeding to get to meditation: Cape Breton, NS

How would the world change if we spent as much time disentangling ourselves from negative self-talk as we do believing it? What if we stopped believing that there’s not enough time to take a walk, a nap, a break, a day off, and started embracing whatever moves us closer and closer to who we really are? 

I suspect that doing no harm to ourselves would leave us more tender—more able to be touched. It’s when I’m rested and clear-headed that I notice leaves rustling and clouds moving and the suffering of others. And I care—I care more about things and people when I’m not wrapped up in my own harmful suffering. 

Cloud Play: Ligmincha Institute, Shipman, VA

Chögyam Trungpa once said, When the world touches you, let it. Sometimes we’re just too overwhelmed by the world to be touched by it. Doing no harm to ourselves can lay the foundation for letting ourselves be touched. From there, we can do even more than not harm others; we can love them. 

Can I be mindful and loving of whatever arises.

If I can’t be loving in this moment, can I be kind.

If I can’t be kind, can I be nonjudgmental.

If I can’t be nonjudgmental, can I not cause harm. 

And, if I cannot not cause harm, can I cause the least amount of harm possible.
-excerpt from writing by Larry Yang

Generosity as a practice

I'm alive today because of the generosity of others; so are you. Someone had to feed us and keep us safe or we wouldn't have survived. What we have today is also because of the generosity of others—the generosity of ideas, time spent planning and creating, tilling the earth, and so on.

Lineage of generosity (my mother, far right in back, and her mother), 1950

Generosity is the first of 6 paramitas. The word paramita means “gone to the other shore.” We might think of the paramitas (generosity, discipline, patience, enthusiasm, meditation, and unconditional wisdom) as qualities that open up the shut down parts of ourselves—so that we might move from the shore of where we are to the shore of more compassionate living. To make that trip, we must leave firm ground and become more fluid. 

Rumi writes about generosity in his tale of a man begging for a crust of bread at someone’s home, and the homeowner replying, What do you think this is, a bakery? The beggar then asks for some gristle. No butchershop here, says the man. Finally the beggar asks for at least a sip of water, and the man tells him, This is not a well. At this point the beggar runs into the house and squats to defecate. Whoa! yells the man. What do you think you’re doing? The beggar explains that since the space seems vacant and unused, that it could use a little fertilizer. 

Since it’s often difficult to see our own vacant, unused potential, I sometimes choose to practice something for a period of time—to become curious about it and how it is playing out in my life. I am currently practicing generosity. But instead of focusing on generosity as it relates to possessions, I’m noticing how generous I am with these 4 intangibles:

Praise

It feels wonderful to receive authentic praise, and I want to be generous with my praise of others. I’m noticing when it’s easy to offer praise, and when it would feel disingenuous or trite. When I feel as though I'm holding back praise that is warranted, I'm asking myself why: Am I jealous? afraid to show tenderness? Or is something else causing me to hold back? I notice also when I am praising out of guilt or a desire to be accepted or liked—or simply to fill up silence. Part of the practice is also being specific with praise. There are studies that point to how generic praise (Great job, Way to go, and so on) can actually inhibit motivation in children, whereas specific praise (You always do a great job of putting your dirty clothes in the hamper) is motivating. I wonder if that holds true with adults. I'm checking it out.

Thanks

I'm also working on being specific with expressions of gratitude: Thank you for always being on time. I appreciate how you tuck the sheets in extra tight on the bed. I feel welcome when you smile at me. Expressions such as Thanks for all you do aren’t wrong, of course, but I’m trying to offer more personalized expressions of gratitude—the stuff we might remember for a long time.

Space

I am currently on retreat in Canada. I arrived on a Friday; my luggage showed up 4 days later. I got to the abbey late at night, ready for a good night’s sleep, when I learned that I would be living offsite in a cabin with 4 other women. The prime spaces were already claimed, with personal belongings in place. It was interesting to watch my mind turn flips as I considered how to mark my territory without physical belongings. I’m still working on ways to loosen up in my sharing of physical space, especially when space is at a premium.

Christmas dinner at the abbey: Not much room. A lot of space.

Silence

Silence is a formal practice here much of the time, but even when it’s not, I’m focusing on letting my generosity with praise, gratitude, and space speak louder than my conversational speech. It usually doesn't require many, if any, words to share in these ways, which leaves me in silence a lot. I am certainly listening a lot more than usual, and trying to speak words that promote peace and love.

With That Moon Language, by Hafiz

Admit something:

Everyone you see, you say to them, “Love me.”

Of course you do not do this out loud;

otherwise someone would call the cops.

Still, though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect.

Why not become the one who lives with a full moon in each eye

that is always saying,

with that sweet moon language,

what every other eye in this world is dying to hear.

3 obstacles to meditation (with inspiration from Dr Seuss)

Meditation changes things. It changes the body, it changes the brain, it changes the heart. Most people relish the possibility of a change, but when that change occurs, it can be terrifying.

You see, there are no hiding places when we get silent and still. We must be willing to face everything when we meditate—relationships that aren’t healthy, habits that are keeping us sick and confused, attitudes deemed admirable at work yet obnoxious at home. It's brave to sit in silence all alone with the only expert in your life: you.

You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And you are the one who’ll decide where to go. -Dr Seuss

Besides letting fear keep us off the cushion, I was taught of 3 other obstacles that we allow to sideline our practice. Here they are—

1. Forgetting the instruction
Basic meditation instruction is that when we realize we’ve been highjacked by runaway mind, we gently return awareness back to the present moment. I usually do this by coming back to sensations of breath or body first; you may have your own way to come back. But the instruction is always, When you’re lost, come back. When we’re lost in thoughts about a situation that seems very serious, puzzling, and complex, the answer is, Come back. When the mind is running after thoughts that are delicious and seductive, and we don't want to come back, the answer is Come back anyway. 

Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple. -Dr. Seuss

2. Too much laxity or too much elation
Not only is the answer always Come back—it’s Come back without making a big deal out of thoughts, our practice, our life (too much elation). But make no mistake: the coming back is firm and definite; we do not wallow in runaway mind (too much laxity). Nor do we get too lax about what we consider a meditation practice—rationalize that the 30 minutes we were passively quiet while watching TV is equivalent to the 30 minutes we were actively silent while watching our mind. When we practice without making too big or too little a deal out of practicing, we cultivate the ability to see things as they actually are. And there’s so much to see.

You’ll miss the best things if you keep your eyes shut. -Dr. Seuss

What Deb saw after retreat, fall 2013

3. Laziness
Keeping our lives so jam packed and then convincing ourselves that we can't possibly let anything go is the 3rd obstacle to meditation. It's not a stretch to understand that if we keep our lives extremely busy that our minds will be that way too. While we certainly get applause for doing-doing-doing, it is through the discipline of simply beinging that we bring a different energy to our efforts. Maybe when we care enough to honor the space and time that it takes to practice stillness and peace within ourselves, we can create a world that is still and peaceful too.

Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not. -Dr Seuss

The flower Daniel sees on his way to/from work: Bagram Air Field, Afghanistan
Thank you for caring, Daniel

The Journey, by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do, 
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations, 
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen 
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do 
the only thing you could do—
determined to save 
the only life you could save.

Get tough and meditate. Meditate and get tough.

We meditate even on days when it hurts to meditate. Maybe it’s the body that hurts. Maybe it’s the mind or the heart. This sitting still and welcoming pain goes against what we have been taught—to distract ourselves from discomfort, find a way around it, or just muscle our way through. The bravest thing that I know to do when I experience pain is to go ahead and allow myself to hurt, be scared, be sad, and so on, without either reaching for the quick fix, calling up a friend who will tell me that it’s okay, or throwing myself a pity party. Some days we just need to get tough and meditate.

So what that you're scared? Meditate!

This moving up close to pain isn’t so different from training a puppy to stay. I once had a pug who loved mandarin orange slices. When I held one in front of his nose, his body quivered and he whimpered. But he stayed with all this discomfort until he heard “Okay." We’re not trying to be martyrs when we sit in meditation, but we are cultivating a strong sense of being with ourselves in every moment of our life, not just the ones that feel happy and easy. How can we expect to be with others who are in pain if we haven't learned to hold that space for ourselves?

The practice of being with pain, heartache, loneliness, and so on, is why I became a hospice volunteer—not because I’m so kind and loving, or because I thought that I could fix anything at all. Being with the dying has allowed me to be a student of mindfulness in a way that nothing else has. Someone dying is either lying down or sitting (prime positions for meditation). They are aware of most every breath (the instruction for meditation). And they live moment to moment to moment (bingo). As much as we may try to “live like we’re dying,” I can’t imagine that we will actually do that until we actually are. So for now, as we celebrate our life, maybe we can include even those moments when we quiver and whimper.

Sit, stay, quiver all you want

One day as I was telling my meditation instructor why I hadn’t been able to work on a writing project, she interrupted me with “Stop making excuses.” It stung to hear those words, and it helped. Staying present to what scares and hurts us can foster courage, confidence, and kindness. Bravo to the brave counselors, dear friends, and glorious teachers who are practiced enough to speak the truth in whatever way our ears can hear it.

Tired of Speaking Sweetly, by Hafez (translated by Daniel Ladinsky)

Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,

Break all our teacup talk of God.

If you had the courage and

Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,

He would just drag you around the room

By your hair,

Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world

That bring you no joy.

Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly

And wants to rip to shreds

All your erroneous notions of truth

That make you fight within yourself, dear one,

And with others,

Causing the world to weep

On too many fine days.

God wants to manhandle us,

Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself

And practice His dropkick.

The Beloved sometimes wants

To do us a great favor:

Hold us upside down

And shake all the nonsense out.

But when we hear

He is in such a "playful drunken mood"

Most everyone I know

Quickly packs their bags and hightails it

Out of town.

Big Mind, Little Mind, Like Mind

I'm all for hanging out with like-minded people, unless there is only 1 piece of cake left. Then I'd prefer the company of those who like pie or maybe a nice piece of fruit instead. I wonder if what we really mean when we say that it's great to be with like-minded people is that we prefer to be with people who agree with us or, at the least, don't prompt us to face certain things that we don't like about ourselves.

Maybe we're all of "like mind." Maybe this is due to the clear, spacious, able-to-hold the good, the bad, and the ugly ability of mind that each of us has. We might call this Big Mind. Maybe it's also because of the puny, scared, hiding out experiences of mind that we have. We could call this Little Mind. We are alike in both this Big and Little Mind way, with much to learn and teach according to everything that we are.

I have learned silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful for these teachers. -Kahlil Gibran

It was confusion about like-mindedness that caused me to wait years before taking the refuge vow. I could commit easily to 2 parts of the 3-part vow. I could take refuge in the belief that Buddha was a man who became enlightened by working with his mind, and that I can do that too. And I could take refuge in the teachings that point me back to myself to work at ending the suffering that I cause in the first place. What I couldn't take refuge in was other people who had also vowed to work with mind. What if those people turned out to be weird? What if they were needy? irritable? selfish? What if they learned that I am all these things? What if they ate my cake?

Thank you for loving me and my mind

Committing not only to live respectfully with others who vow to work with both Big and Little Mind, but also to be seen up close by those people, requires courage. It requires letting community hold up a mirror so that we might see ourselves clearly. There are moments each day when I'm not even like-minded with myself. How could I ever find a community of like-minded individuals? It turns out that such people exist as far as my Big Mind can see. It's only when I look with Small Mind that I live alone.

I was given a new name when I finally took the vow. Some think that a refuge name captures the essence of the initiate; some feel that it points to where the person needs work. My first name translates as Liberation, my last name as Happiness. In the middle is the word Dharma—truth. Liberation, truth, and happiness. When I lose my mind, those names point me back to the path and to the goal. So do all the other brave warriors of like mind. May we all learn from one another the truth of who we really are. 

I am not I, by Juan Ramon Jiminez (translated by Robert Bly)

I am this one
Walking beside me whom I do not see, 
Whom at times I manage to visit,
And whom at other times I forget;
The one who remains silent when I talk,
The one who forgives, sweet, when I hate,
The one who takes a walk where I am not,
The one who will remain standing when I die.

7 questions about giving

May these questions promote generosity.

What do I give to my people?
Who are “my people”? Am I giving them the respect, gratitude, patience, and kindness that helps them realize how important they are to me? Do I tell them that I'm proud of them, that I love them, and so on? Do I look them in the eye and smile? 

Am I spending time or money in ways that no longer promote wisdom, kindness, and good health in my life?

What changes can I make to release myself from the hold of defunct habits, belongings, obligations, and so on?

Thank you for making a new habit of watching an old show with me

Do my finances reflect a heartful life?
Do I give from a heart space, or do I give because I feel obligated? Life Coach Martha Beck says that before doing or giving something, we might check our motives by asking a question: When I imagine doing or giving such-and-such, would I call the feeling that I get “shackles on” or “shackles off”? If the answer is "shackles on,” maybe I shouldn't push forward to give or do—perhaps I could wait and reconsider.

Do my physical surroundings promote an attitude of generosity? 
Is there clutter that keeps me busy and preoccupied? Is there better use for some of my "things"? Do I honor possessions by keeping them clean, maintained, organized, and so on? Are there areas in my life where I skimp or do without, when being more generous with myself would provide resources and tools that could bring about ease? Are there areas where I go overboard or waste?

Thank you for organizing storm supplies (and camping out on the floor)

Can I give more respect to my body?
Are there changes that I can make to become physically stronger and more flexible? In what ways could I be kinder to my skin, teeth, and so on?

What am I afraid of that keeps me holding on to items that no longer fit my life?
Are there gentle but direct ways to address that fear? 

Does a particular person or group make my heart sing?
What “small” or “big” something can I offer to make their work and life more effective, simple, and happy?

Thank you for making me happy

May we always give from the very best of who we are. 

Happiness is not so much in having as sharing. 
We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give. 

-Norman MacEwan