It may be when we no longer know what to do,
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go,
we have begun our real journey. --Wendell Berry
Sometimes, life runs smoothly. I sleep well. I get my work done. I feel good about myself, my family, our life, the dog. Like Goldilocks sitting in baby bear's chair, life is just right. So good, in fact, that I attach myself to those good feelings and that smooth running life. Sometimes, life simply runs, as in it gets away from me. Events don't go as planned. Feelings of helplessness set in, occasionally a sense of hopelessness follows. Finally, I feel foolish for thinking that I ever had any of it under control. Once again I'm like Goldilocks, this time complaining that things are too hot or too cold and not at all exactly right. It's odd, but I get attached to those feelings as well.
I call that a lifesaver.
Years before Facebook CEO Sheryl Sandberg made the phrase Lean In popular when her book with the same title became a phenomenon in the publishing world last year, the American Buddhist nun Pema Chodron--a student of Trungpa's--used the same words to suggest a subtler but more significant revolution. In her 2009 book Taking the Leap: Freeing Ourselves from Old Habits and Fears, Chodron advises that when we lose perspective and cannot bear to experience whatever feeling has temporarily moved in that we should "change the way we see it and lean in." Or as the public service announcement for the PBS channel invites, we should be more curious. According to Chodron, this sort of curiosity melts our resistance to the negative emotions. The result, with a little practice, is that we gradually become less attached to the emotional maelstrom we have created and return once again to the only place that really exists, the present moment with its grab bag of beauty and imperfection.
In the same small book, Chodron talks about the long night during which the Buddha attained enlightenment, like the Noche Oscura of St. John of the Cross, or Jesus' 40-day sojourn in the desert or his solo vigil in the garden at Gesthemane. Chodron explains that right before the Buddha attained enlightenment, he was tempted in every way. The Buddha persisted through that night by staying present. He was thus able to resist all temptation. According to Chodron, traditional versions of this story suggest that the Buddha had no reaction to the barrage of temptations. But Chodron interprets this differently. Chodron believes that the Buddha did experience emotions that long night, but rather than attaching to them, he recognized them as dynamic energy moving through. Chodron believes that the Buddha leaned into the emotions, the temptations, the energy arising. He made a space for the energy and watched it with curiosity while it did what it needed to do. I like Chodron's interpretation and the idea that a little space can permit perceptions to shift. I also like it because it sounds like a practice within my reach. One that I can begin without traveling anywhere. One that I can experiment with both on and off my mat because the path is right where I am, right beneath my feet.
One of my husband's colleagues recently shared a personal story with me from this very path. I am grateful to her for her candor and her tears, particularly the tears because in the 20 years that I have known Kristina, I have seen her only as a small woman of great force. I am most grateful to Kristina for showing me what it looks like to leave room for change to happen. For showing me how in a real-life, not so pleasant situation, we can indeed lean into our discomfort and our bitterness, directly from our rightfully indignant perch. We can lean into that place where the rules we have so comfortably lived by, and with such certainty, suddenly stop making sense. Of course, that is not what Kristina was thinking while events unfolded. No. She was thinking she had come to the edge of her world. She was thinking she no longer knew what she was supposed to do. In Kristina's story, forgiveness happened. In the end, love did win. In the beginning, however, Kristina's story is messy and ugly. Her father left her when she was three years old. More than forty years would pass before she would meet him again. Ultimately, she would welcome him, ailing and sick, into her home where she would care for him until he died one morning while she held his hand, telling him that it was okay now, he could let go.
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go,
we have begun our real journey. --Wendell Berry
Sometimes, life runs smoothly. I sleep well. I get my work done. I feel good about myself, my family, our life, the dog. Like Goldilocks sitting in baby bear's chair, life is just right. So good, in fact, that I attach myself to those good feelings and that smooth running life. Sometimes, life simply runs, as in it gets away from me. Events don't go as planned. Feelings of helplessness set in, occasionally a sense of hopelessness follows. Finally, I feel foolish for thinking that I ever had any of it under control. Once again I'm like Goldilocks, this time complaining that things are too hot or too cold and not at all exactly right. It's odd, but I get attached to those feelings as well.
The truth is, I lose heart as often as I accept a challenge. I feel compassion for others as intensely as I feel my wholly justifiable indignation. After a yoga class, it's easier to allow for the person in the parking lot who cuts me off than it is when I am running late and that same person is suddenly in my way. Remember Humphrey Bogart as Rick in the film Casablanca? At the end of the movie, Bogart is at the airport saying good-bye to Ilsa--played by Ingrid Bergman--the woman he would give up everything for. And, in fact, that is what he is doing. He is letting her go, returning her to her husband and a life Rick understands she belongs to even though Rick's heart has been broken. In one of those rare acts of love that Hollywood actually got right, Bogart tells Bergman: "Where I'm going, you can't follow. What I've got to do, you can't be any part of. Ilsa, I'm no good at being noble, but it doesn't take much to see that the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday, you'll understand that."
When disaster strikes in a part of the world other than our own--Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, the 2004 tsunami in the Indian Ocean, typhoon Haiyan in the Philippines--the desire to help is practically automatic. We open our hearts and our pocketbooks and we share what we can to lend a hand in some small way. What Rick says to Ilsa at the end of Casablanca makes perfect sense. But, when we get stuck in one of our own mental or emotional hurricanes, it becomes increasingly difficult to see the larger world, and our significance in it, because our infinitesimal one has momentarily blocked out the sun. While the universe hums along expanding, we take the opposite view. We temporarily forget the natural order of things and mistake our confusion and our fear as here for the long haul. At times like these, Buddhist meditation master Chogyam Trungpa would remind his devoted students, "Sanity is permanent. Neurosis is temporary."
When disaster strikes in a part of the world other than our own--Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, the 2004 tsunami in the Indian Ocean, typhoon Haiyan in the Philippines--the desire to help is practically automatic. We open our hearts and our pocketbooks and we share what we can to lend a hand in some small way. What Rick says to Ilsa at the end of Casablanca makes perfect sense. But, when we get stuck in one of our own mental or emotional hurricanes, it becomes increasingly difficult to see the larger world, and our significance in it, because our infinitesimal one has momentarily blocked out the sun. While the universe hums along expanding, we take the opposite view. We temporarily forget the natural order of things and mistake our confusion and our fear as here for the long haul. At times like these, Buddhist meditation master Chogyam Trungpa would remind his devoted students, "Sanity is permanent. Neurosis is temporary."
I call that a lifesaver.
Years before Facebook CEO Sheryl Sandberg made the phrase Lean In popular when her book with the same title became a phenomenon in the publishing world last year, the American Buddhist nun Pema Chodron--a student of Trungpa's--used the same words to suggest a subtler but more significant revolution. In her 2009 book Taking the Leap: Freeing Ourselves from Old Habits and Fears, Chodron advises that when we lose perspective and cannot bear to experience whatever feeling has temporarily moved in that we should "change the way we see it and lean in." Or as the public service announcement for the PBS channel invites, we should be more curious. According to Chodron, this sort of curiosity melts our resistance to the negative emotions. The result, with a little practice, is that we gradually become less attached to the emotional maelstrom we have created and return once again to the only place that really exists, the present moment with its grab bag of beauty and imperfection.
In the same small book, Chodron talks about the long night during which the Buddha attained enlightenment, like the Noche Oscura of St. John of the Cross, or Jesus' 40-day sojourn in the desert or his solo vigil in the garden at Gesthemane. Chodron explains that right before the Buddha attained enlightenment, he was tempted in every way. The Buddha persisted through that night by staying present. He was thus able to resist all temptation. According to Chodron, traditional versions of this story suggest that the Buddha had no reaction to the barrage of temptations. But Chodron interprets this differently. Chodron believes that the Buddha did experience emotions that long night, but rather than attaching to them, he recognized them as dynamic energy moving through. Chodron believes that the Buddha leaned into the emotions, the temptations, the energy arising. He made a space for the energy and watched it with curiosity while it did what it needed to do. I like Chodron's interpretation and the idea that a little space can permit perceptions to shift. I also like it because it sounds like a practice within my reach. One that I can begin without traveling anywhere. One that I can experiment with both on and off my mat because the path is right where I am, right beneath my feet.
One of my husband's colleagues recently shared a personal story with me from this very path. I am grateful to her for her candor and her tears, particularly the tears because in the 20 years that I have known Kristina, I have seen her only as a small woman of great force. I am most grateful to Kristina for showing me what it looks like to leave room for change to happen. For showing me how in a real-life, not so pleasant situation, we can indeed lean into our discomfort and our bitterness, directly from our rightfully indignant perch. We can lean into that place where the rules we have so comfortably lived by, and with such certainty, suddenly stop making sense. Of course, that is not what Kristina was thinking while events unfolded. No. She was thinking she had come to the edge of her world. She was thinking she no longer knew what she was supposed to do. In Kristina's story, forgiveness happened. In the end, love did win. In the beginning, however, Kristina's story is messy and ugly. Her father left her when she was three years old. More than forty years would pass before she would meet him again. Ultimately, she would welcome him, ailing and sick, into her home where she would care for him until he died one morning while she held his hand, telling him that it was okay now, he could let go.
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