Tag: pain

God Bless This Broken Road.

There was an interesting question raised during our session this morning. How do we maintain our compassion in this life, while simultaneously suffering an ‘injury’ of heart? In other words, is it possible to treat another with equanimity – to hold true to our spiritual path in spite of our own circumstances?

The woman asking had recently lost her son. He was found alone in his car, parked outside a known drug house – an emptied syringe still hanging from his arm.

She spoke softly, though deliberately. “I hate them all,” she said. “the dealers, the other addicts…the counselors who failed him in his treatment. I hate the police officer who cut him a break, and myself for not doing more.”

The room grew silent in her pause. “It’s so easy to to discuss the hypotheticals of healing. But for those of us gutted by the finality of our pain – how on Earth do we begin again?”

She wanted answers – real answers, not the generics found in the bindings of a book. She needed connection, someone might greet her at her level. Someone who would understand the conflict of her pain.

“You’re already doing so,” the teacher began. “By showing up and being honest. That’s the first step in any journey. Right now, you fear the path – you fear where it might leave you. The path itself will heal your wounds. Try not to rush through.”

Someone once said to me that our experiences were, in part, to wake us up. Likewise, to help us reveal an inherent aspect of our human nature – the need to share our love.

Ultimately, this is the catalyst to our awakening. It lends us our ‘why’ in the absence of reason.

Something to consider, my friends – in peace…

Namaste ❣️

We Are Never Truly Alone.

I found myself missing my father this morning. As the morning sun found its place amongst the trees, I wondered if he was there – perhaps watching over in a different form.

Could he still see me? Was he still proud?

I thought time might help to ease the pain in his passing…perhaps, soften it a bit. However, mornings like this – I hear the sound of his tractor keeping up with the task of ensuring our house was a home.

In the weeks following his death, I could barely function. There were days I found it difficult to wake up, to pull myself from the bed; to perform the simplest of tasks. And when I did, everything seemed to be a reminder; the trees, the air – that dusty bottle of Marsala at the back of the pantry.

At first, I was angry that these images seemed altered; cherished memories once the source of such joy now a stinging nettle. Even a quick trip to the grocery store offered an unavoidable upset – “wasn’t that the brand of tomatoes we used”, thinking of the many hours spent together in the kitchen.

In looking through the window this morning, I realized how much my pain had transformed. I could see beyond the bounds of physical form. He was ‘gone’, yes – though, his passing helped to deepen my resolve; to demonstrate clearly that I was never really alone.

That all things have a place, though it’s our heart which makes a home. That even profound sadness may, in time, share its blessing.

We are never really alone; and as I stand as witness to this light breaking through the trees I know…

My father’s love is always here with me…

In peace, my friends …

Namaste ❤

When Our World Becomes New.

“This is my pain,” he shouted fighting back his tears. It had been a long day, and the tempers were already worn. “I decide when it’s time to let go,” he said. “Not one minute before.”

His mother lay motionless in the hospital bed next to him. Though she had fought valiantly, it was no match for the cancer which had ravaged her already weakened frame.

“It’s time,” his father said to him. “We have to say goodbye.”

Yet, there was still so much left to be said.

He was angry for her earlier mistreatments, abandoning the family in pursuit of a ‘better life.’ He wanted answers; he wanted to know. Though, more so – he wanted her to feel his pain inside.

And so, he held on – for a very long time; even after his mother had died.

“There are two kinds of suffering,” teacher Ajahn Chah once shared. “There is the suffering you run away from, which follows you everywhere. And there is the suffering you face directly, and in doing so become free.”

Though the subtleties are not often clear. Particularly, as the mind struggles to understand the implications of our past burdens and fear. Our heart aches for closure and resolve, yet – our actions speak to another will. We pray for release just as we tighten our grip.

Though, ultimately one question remains: do we run or do we hold near?

Knowing freedom and joy are possible within any given moment helps to empower our decision. And, faith is what helps us to find our way through.

For my friend, the initial pain of losing his mother was nothing compared to the suffering created in the weeks to follow. Like most of us, he viewed his pain as ‘separate’ from self; something much greater than his ability to manage.

We feel victimized by these external actions. Though, in reality – the source and the symptom are always the same. We alone decide our response to the pain. And we alone determine our path.

In letting go, my sweet friends – our world becomes new

A little something to consider, my friends…

In peace…

Namaste ❤

The Habit of Our Wounds.

There’s a pain that may, at times, descend upon us; one so great that it threatens to steal our very soul. And leaving in its wake the unmistakable habit of our wounds.

Do we fear the deafening silence of this passing storm? Or, do we fear the magnitude of our own humbled grace? The scattered litterings of lessons past now marking the once pristine shore.

Through the breaking clouds, a single patch of sun revealing the efforts of an unimpeded joy. Are we made bolder through such courtesy? Our essence – more profound?

Or, are we simply encouraged? These castings of self serving the confluence of ‘one’? And through their efficacy – ultimately, made whole.

In peace…

Namaste ❤

Healing the Child Within.

I remember once watching the little ones quarreling in our neighborhood. They’re such a tight knit group, always watching over and caring – though, even the best of friendships may suffer the occasional strain.

And, this particular morning was by no means an exception. As one by one, their voices grew until the youngest finally scampered off in tears. Why were they fighting? We may never know ~ though, the pain itself was clear.

It’s a natural inclination to move away from pain. Even in the case of children quarreling, our knee-jerk reaction often overrides what we wish to be true – that we may act from a place of loving kindness, even when the heart is injured.

The Buddha urged us to let go of our anger, to liberate ourselves from the bindings of suffering. “Abandon these thoughts and live in love,” he shared, “In this world, hatred never ceases by hatred, but by love alone is healed.”

Though fear and pain are natural human emotions, when we experience their energy – it feels oddly foreign; as if ‘separate’ from the self we know to be true. In extreme cases, it may cause a physical aversion. Our bodies may tighten under the presence of a ‘new truth’ ~ though, what happened next is entirely our choosing.

It’s the proverbial ‘second arrow’, the lingering and dwelling inside that which has passed. Perhaps, it’s the mind’s way of reconciling such an egregious injury?

Or, maybe it’s simple the soul’s way of ‘crying’?

We all have this little one within ~ one who may scamper away at the first wincing of pain. In which case, we must stand ready to gather them within our arms – to offer that which is needed most of all.

If our response to another’s pain may be that of open-hearted compassion – why then, can’t we feel the same love for ‘self’?

A little something to consider, my loves.

In peace…

Namaste ❤️

This Extraordinary Ordinariness.

I was reading  a passage this morning by one of my favorite authors, Mark Nepo. He was speaking of our inherent propensity to give in to the ‘smallness’ which hastens our misery.

“We begin so aware and grateful. The sun somehow hangs there in the sky. The little bird sings. The miracle of life just happens. Then we stub our toe, and in that moment of pain, the whole world is reduced to our poor little toe. Now, for a day or two, it is difficult to walk. With every step, we are reminded of our poor little toe.

Our vigilance becomes: Which defines our day—the pinch we feel in walking on a bruised toe, or the miracle still happening?”

How easily we are drawn, my loves, into that which diminishes our gratitude. That which reduces the aperture of our loving heart to a single point of pain.

And, it happens every day.

With such narrowed focus, our ‘problem’ becomes our ‘everything’ – the dripping of faucet, the falling of rain… the irritation of being trapped with no escape.

Unless…

We take a moment to simply rest; to appreciate the miracle within such ordinariness.

“Light is in both the broken bottle and the diamond,” he shares. “and music is in both the flowing violin and the water dripping from the drainage pipe. Yes, God is under the porch as well as on top of the mountain, and joy is in both the front row and the bleachers, if we are willing to be where we are.”

In peace, my loves…

Namaste <3

The Subtlety of Transformation.

There is a precept within the Buddhist tradition speaking towards the willingness of heart to move from suffering to equanimity. It is the basis by which we cultivate the energy of transformation, and a catalyst for own inner peace.

There are so many ways in which negativity may reach us. Whether directly by hatred or ill will, or indirectly through the chattering of our own self-inflicted ‘wounds’ – it manifests within and all around us. We see it within the onslaught of media images. We recoil when presented through the actions of another.

So often, we are misguided in thinking ours to be a passive role. Impulse begs to silence the angst – though, in reality, our denial serves only to strengthen its resolve. In the end, we’re left wondering — what, if anything, may be done?

In looking more deeply, we realize that the energy to suppress is equal to the energy to transform – though with widely disparate result. And, yet time after time again we choose – the path which causes additional harm.

Buddhism (and, perhaps our own experience) teaches that we can not and should not deny that which may ultimately serve to expand our heart.

But, what does that mean? And, more importantly – how is the energy of transformation engaged?

As Thich Nhat Hanh teaches, we must learn to look deeply into the energy of our emotions, identifying that which may ultimately empower our fear. We redirect the energy into our own transformation.

“You don’t feel the need to fight against your anger or your fear anymore,” he shares. “because you see that your anger and your fear are you. So you try to handle them in the most tender way. There’s no fighting anymore. There’s only the practice to transform and to take care.”

It is the practice of helping our heart grow each and every time.

In peace…

Namaste ❤️

A Boundless Peace.

“Within each of us there is a silence – a silence as vast as the universe. We are afraid of it . . . and we long for it.

When we experience that silence, we remember who we are: creatures of the stars, created from the birth of galaxies, created from the cooling of this plane, created from dust and gas, created from the elements, created from time and space . . . created from silence.” – Gunilla Norris

I was recently invited to participate in a local research project – to help examine the role of mindfulness practice in longer-term patient care.

For those who are not aware, I am presently being treated for early-onset Parkinson’s disease. The experience of facing a life-altering diagnosis, can be daunting – to say the least. But, more profoundly, it is our experience within that diagnosis – our state of mind, so to speak – which may drastically alter the course of disease ‘progression.’ That is to say, though we may not be able to change our genetic destiny – we can find peace within it.

The Buddha taught that the best way to reduce our suffering was through the healing power of this present moment; an unassuming connection to the very nature of our being.

One with the capacity to transcend all that dreadful inner-chattering. This is the way of mindfulness, of opening our hearts fully to life, and allowing all to be, just as it is.

Be here now….sounds rather easy, now doesn’t it? But, just watch as something might threaten our ego – and, how quickly we relinquish this connection. We defend the impermanence of this emotion, more so than the sanctity of our being.

In truth, we are defending that ‘second arrow.’

The Buddha taught that it is only by way of looking into our suffering, that we might finally understand and relieve it.

I came to mindfulness practice because I was suffering. Though, I’d always been one to find the blessing in the challenge, in this case…I felt so completely overwhelmed. I was suffering, you see, at the hands of someone else’s misery. And, in that space – I lost all connection to self.

One night, I suppose, stood out as my ‘tipping point’ – in which the man I ‘loved’ announced he was ‘too embarrassed to be seen with me.’

The next morning, I did the only thing I knew how to do – I sat quietly beneath a tree and breathed.

In the silence, I could feel the sting of his words…

“You’re not good enough…”

“I never loved you…”

“You’ll never find someone as good as me…”

Look, I know it’s not always easy to sit with our pain. Habit urges us to run, to lash out, to defend – to move away from the pain.

But, in doing so – we lose a vital chance to understand.

In her book, Sharing Silence, Gunilla Norris writes:

“Through the practice of silence we become aware
of our pain. The pain is always there—in our minds
and in our bodies. Silence allows us to see it,
face it, release it.

By cultivating silence, we can find and release
deeper and deeper levels of pain and so discover
once again what is beneath the pain:
the natural joy that is already inside us,
free to rise and flow into experience.”

It is the rigidness of emotion which keeps us locked to our pain. The sting of someone’s words, the haunting image of another’s actions.

Though, it may be our instinct to flee – we must remember, there is a vital lesson to be learned. That is to say, in silence, we begin to see. And, with open heart, we begin to soften to our pain.

But always, within each soul-filling breath…my darlings, there is a boundless peace.