The sound of driving
Images through the windshield 
The mind wanders
But awareness knows
The way back to freedom
Pausing 
Between the seen, the heard
Before a response is rendered 
It’s ok sweetheart
Welcome home again 
Imagine greeting others this way
What the world would be like
If we could all return to this moment
From wherever we are
 
Everything that enters through the sense doors of sight, sound, taste, smell, touch, even a thought, is based on causes, conditions, influences, and beliefs. Yet we believe everything we see, everything we hear as if it were the ultimate truth:  a Facebook story with stunning pictures and the promise of bliss, circulating gossip at work and social gatherings, our loved ones’ outbursts, among other things.

Will we experience the same bliss if we dress similarly and visit the same places as our Facebook friends? Is the circulating gossip confirmed by our clarification first hand with those involved in the story? Do our loved ones really mean what they are saying in the heat of anger and irritation?

As I was driving to work one day, sounds of tires rolling, wind blowing, sights of other cars on the road and views of the bay were all perceived through the sense doors. For a few brief moments, bare attention was sustained on these sights and sounds. Soon the mind wandered, but awareness knew the way back to freedom.

Truth and safety can only be found in this moment, when we ask ourselves, “What is actually happening right now? Am I seeing clearly, or is my perception affected by tinted glasses?” When I pause between the seen, the heard, before I react and say or do something I’ll later regret based on misperceptions, there is a space. In that space lies the choice to sew seeds of greed, hatred and delusion, or generosity, kindness, and wisdom.

Before a response is rendered, we can give overwhelming thoughts, feelings, and sensations space to play themselves out in the body. Rilke said, “Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.” Maybe ‘just keep breathing’ would be more helpful in this context. It doesn’t matter how many times we have left this moment. It is there to greet all prodigal daughters and sons with open arms.

It’s ok sweetheart
Welcome home again    

In that welcome, we can be thoroughly nourished and resourced, returning again and again for the promise of true freedom.

*****

What started as a practice in stress reduction over twelve years ago has now taken on a relational quality and meaning for me. The more I return to present moment awareness and question what enters the sense doors, the more I understand about karmic potential. For me, mindfulness isn’t just about sitting on the cushion for temporary peace. It’s learning to greet others with the same Namaste that each moment greets me.

Imagine what the world would be like if we could all return to this moment from wherever we are.​

The email subject line announces the release of this quarter’s publication. It’s finally here! After one and a half months of anticipation, I wonder how the article on diversity and inclusivity in healthcare will land on colleagues.

Will they comment on the compassion, insightfulness, or skill of writing? Will they see me in a different light, beyond the part time family physician who doesn’t ‘work as hard’ as others? Will they appreciate the need for diversity and inclusivity awareness? Will they feel inspired to learn and implement some of the suggestions?

Holding my breath, I close the email. There are patients to see, an electronic medical record inbox to attend to. The thoughts almost lift me off the chair, out of the body and to another place far from here.

Earth to Kaveri. Feel your feet on the ground, sits bones on the chair, breath moving through you. You have work to do. The email can wait.
 
*****
 
After the dinner dishes have been rinsed, the dishwasher loaded, the family immersed in their evening rituals, I click on the email that links to the newsletter. Scrolling the contents, the heart sinks when I find my article towards the end of the publication, confined to one page, a majority of the original content missing.

What the hell! is my first reaction. I feel like someone has just taken away a prize I never won and stripped me of all false pretensions. Feeling angry, hurt, and exposed, who am I right now? The beautiful writer whose article didn’t make the front cover?  The kind, mindful physician who is really an imposter?

There is a strong urge to email the editor with these woes. Excuse me. There’s been a terrible mistake. But something inside encourages connection to the earth for grounding, awareness of breath to notice the subtle transition between stillness and movement, a warmth in the heart to encourage gentleness, and remembrance of the body as 60% water. Water takes on the shape of any container it fills. Can I take on the shape of this moment?
 
*****
 
Like inflated balloons being twisted and shaped by a clown at a children’s party, I wonder how many selves were created between writing the article, waiting for its release, and watching for impact. Judgments begin to arise. Hasn’t DPP6 taught you anything by now? There are only 4 months left in the program. Better figure it out soon! The midback tightens where the stone of shame is carried on the shadow side of the heart.

In meditation, compassion and humor are also present, gently popping the inflated balloon selves with pinpoint precision. Awww, Sweetie. Of course these balloons were present. Past karma, causes and conditions. The balloons are pretty frickin’ hilarious, aren’t they? Feel free to cry, laugh, or do both. It’s all welcome here. Metta fire from the heart holds the shadow side in loving awareness.
 
*****
 
An email is composed to the editor, thanking them for inclusion of the article in this quarter’s publication. An inquiry is made about changes to the article from its original content. The email ends with metta blessings for the holidays. Another email is received from the CEO of our organization expressing appreciation for the article.

Regardless of the number of painful ‘ego I’ deaths occurring with this experience, the emergence of ‘elemental i’ is totally worth it.

Grounded in Earth.
Breath sensing the subtle transition between stillness and movement.
Metta fire to encourage gentleness.
Body as 60% water, taking on the shape of this moment.

Not self, infinite space holding all of life’s dramas. An open heart learning to love what is real.

*****

(Come explore ego I and elemental i through meditation and reflective journaling. For information click here.)

Born into this moment,
each breath is a wave
erasing past selves carved in sand.
Still, I try to build
a grand sandcastle of ego
further inland for protection,
till the sea swallows it whole
into a belly of no becoming.
Birthed again from the womb
of wholesome intentions,
returning as a song that leaves its shell
to join the collective chorus for peace.
 
Each moment I am born into a new molecular configuration, erasing past selves carved in sand. This is a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that the slate of deficiencies can easily be erased. A curse in that even a grand sandcastle of ego built further inland for protection is defenseless against the sea.

Who am I trying to be? An acclaimed poet/writer? A popular family physician with good reviews? A mindful, compassionate mother? A wise meditator? A sacred feminine conduit with direct access to the Great Mother? An expert on diversity and inclusivity?

Who am I trying to run away from? The ideal housewife and daughter? The productive physician? The body that can be in better shape as evidence by certain chronic conditions? The anxious one? The mother who failed? The callous one?

Just typing all these selves makes my head spin. It’s like strolling through an open bazaar with a new outfit in mind. The vendors come at me from all directions displaying their colorful wares. “This is an exclusive dress. Hand stitched. Best price in town. You won’t find it anywhere else.”

​Who ever said I was for sale??

I’m tired of trying to be someone. Trying to impress. Trying to build a sandcastle of ego that will last.

Let the sea swallow me whole into a belly of no becoming. Birthed again from the womb of wholesome intentions, may i connect, create, have compassion for a larger sphere than this small sense of self.

May i return as a song that leaves its shell to join the collective chorus for peace. This eternal song of generosity, wisdom, kindness, patience, determination, joy, compassion, mindfulness, and faith has no name. It doesn’t belong to anyone.
​
And it can still be shared.

This is a verbal garbage dump without
a forethought of what will harm the heart-
speeches, judgements all aimed at
protecting one’s own view while
the unreal other is suffering, too.
 
This could be a love letter, a truce
one brave act of forgiveness,
the walls of division crumbling
because one side is tired of living
inside a limited potential for peace.
 
Shedding tears of individual and collective harm this morning in meditation. So mentally and physically tired by this country’s political climate. Reflecting on dependent origination, karma, and not-self, I realize how important my spoken and written words are.  Do I want to contribute to what this is, or what this could be?

I couldn’t love her the way she needed to be loved. I couldn’t support the last three months of her life as the cancer was slowly invading her digestive tract, pancreas, and lungs the way a bad nightmare does, except she never got to wake up.

I was too busy being angry and hurt over sibling dynamics, feeling invisible, outfitting her with a traditional standard I had come to despise. It was easy to conveniently forget her safe escort on three different buses we needed to take to and from the orthodontics office, the way she would tear her old Indian saris and sew them into long skirts because she knew I loved them, the house filled with the scent of masala 24/7 so we would never starve while growing up.

Why was I still hungry?

*****

We honored the 5-year anniversary of her death through puja. I was drawn to the diya like a moth to a flame, singing with a fervency during the arti that felt misplaced. Who was this 45-year-old woman child hearing her mother singing, seeing her soul, her name in the sacred fire?
​
Who was the sister blaming her brother for distance and insensitivity, blaming herself for deficiency and vulnerability?

*****

A few days later in yoga practice, I felt intuitively called to listen to one of my favorite bhajans. A torrential downpour of emotion flooded the mat. I was grieving all the things I expected of Mummy, all the blocks to loving her just as she was. There was no dam to hold anything back, nothing between me and this moment.

Forgiveness was palpable both ways.

*****

She’s lacing up her black Converse, noticing a brown mark on one side of a shoe. She stands to retrieve a wet washcloth to wipe the shoes she is so proud of.

I comment on the mark. Maybe it’s a scuff from my sandal the other day as we were walking to the library. She glares at me with that entitled teenage look, punishing with silence and a hug withheld before biking off to school.

“I let you go with love”, I call out cheerfully.  “You know where to find me!”

*****

We think we have forever with loved ones, a lifetime to heal a suffocating heart that can barely breathe.

Can we compassionately bow to each thought, feeling and sensation sculpted from the cycle of dependent origination into a solid self? Can we be patient with practice, trust wise teachers, good friends, and tenderness to slowly crack the plaster open?

Opening to vulnerability is not natural. It takes so much courage and support. I carry these verbal snapshots of unconditional love like passages from the holy books, knowing things will change.

The plaster will harden with conditional love and soften with practice again.

Note: 

puja: a prayer ritual performed by Hindus of devotional worship to one or more deities, or to host and honor a guest, or one to spiritually celebrate an event

diya: an oil lamp used in the Indian subcontinent, notably India and Nepal, usually made from clay, with a cotton wick dipped in ghee or vegetable oils

arti: a Hindu religious ritual of worship, a part of puja, in which light from wicks soaked in ghee (purified butter) or camphor is offered to one or more deities

bhajan: any song with religious theme or spiritual ideas, in a regional South Asian language

Cycle of Dependent Origination: A chain of causes which result in rebirth and dukkha (suffering). By breaking the chain, liberation from suffering can be attained.

What she said, what she did really pissed me off. The precept, ‘knowing that our lives intertwine, I vow to speak only what it true, useful and kind‘ felt like a distant memory. Years of painful conditioning begged for release. I wanted to hurt her.

What I really wanted was for her to be conscious, for intimacy in this relationship to be built on something stronger than the ego.

*****

In The Yoga of Relationship, Phillip Moffitt describes three types of relationships: ego at the center, love and ego at the center, and love at the center. Though the model describes romantic relationships, I see how it applies to all relationships – family, friends, coworkers, neighbors, challenging folks, EVERYONE.

I immediately recognize the first type of relationship with this being. For years, the heart has diligently practiced metta for her. I know she is overwhelmed by insecurity, her actions inspired by the promise of ego belonging. It’s why we collide like asteroids so many times, instead of orbiting each other’s celestial being in awe.

May you feel a sense of belonging without the need to criticize others.

I yearn for the second type of relationship where love is also brought into the center with ego. For years, the heart has also practiced metta for this writer. I want to move beyond sense doors that trigger past hurt – sights and sounds that constrict the heart to hurt more and love less.

May I speak my truth with kindness.

“When love and ego are at the center, you are not abandoning or martyring yourself. Instead, you are giving up certain expectations, which means that your relationship to the energy of love is not dependent on your partner (or other being).”

Can I appreciate this being’s cycle of dependent origination causing her to connect mainly through comparison over compassion? Can I renounce certain expectations, so that my relationship to love is not dependent on her? Can this relationship be built on Metta (lovingkindness), Karuna (compassion), Mudita (joy), Upekkha (equanimity), where the heart is not just a welcome doormat easily stepped on, but a heavenly abode that opens to love’s possibility when feeling resourced and safe?

*****

What she said, what she did still pisses me off. The hurt is less. Wanting her to be more conscious, I turn inward, asking citta (heart-mind) for intimacy in this relationship to be built on something stronger than the ego, for the Brahmaviharas to hold us both.
​
(May the benefits of this practice be shared by all beings who struggle in relationship, all beings yearning for conscious connection.)

At SFO, prior to boarding the plane for Japan, I heard a strange voice. “Don’t believe anything you see or hear. Look and listen for connection. That is all.” 

The voice sounded wise, profound. I’ve learned by now not to question its authenticity or figure out where it came from. In time, I would understand.

*****
​
In Japan, I experienced an explosion of sense pleasures. The rainbow colors and taste offerings at breakfast: wakame seaweed salad with lotus root and sesame dressing, alternating miso, corn, or pumpkin soup, scrambled eggs, choice of croissant, pecan, or cinnamon danish, veggies, and a several tea options. Lunch and dinner would involve savory ramen or udon noodles, crisp, tasty tempura, or a choice of yummy Italian, Mexican, Thai, or Indian cuisines. A few nights I simply had to turn the family down for dinner because my pants grew too tight and my stomach felt like a bowling ball!

After reading the first chapter in Ajahn Sucitto's "Paramis, Ways To Cross Life's Floods" on the four types of floods, I reflected and reframed my experience in Japan. What part of the trip was I not swept away in the flood of sensual pleasures, the flood of becoming (personal identity and time), the flood of views (I’m right, you’re wrong), or the flood of ignorance (not seeing things as they are)?

A few memorable experiences stood out. Standing at a train station in Tokyo waiting for a train bound for Kyoto, I noticed a man with a towel over his head crouching on the ground near his briefcase, eyelids closed with the weight of possible illness or job stress. This heart-mind began to practice on the spot Tonglen for him.

At Entokuin temple in Kyoto, I experienced the division of self and other melting into the green tea, the tea room structure, and the gardens around us. I didn’t even know the woman performing the tea ceremony, but in that moment, she was mother, daughter, sister, partner, friend, the soil underneath us, the breath between us.
​

*****
​
“Don’t believe anything you see or hear. Look and listen for connection. That is all.” 

Their is nothing wrong with enjoying sense pleasures, wanting to be someone, or having a certain view. Suffering arises when these floods lead to unwholesome disconnection instead of wholesome connection. 
​
I may forget the smell and taste of certain foods, how certain sights looked or felt, but the man at the station, the woman performing the tea ceremony, the victims of the A-bomb at Hiroshima, will stay in this heart-mind long after the body is gone.

Go ahead. Fall into that hole. We all do, sometimes repeatedly. Walk the path, right over the leaves and sticks that hide the ditch, false ground made of desire, aversion, delusion.

It’s cold down there, darkness all around you, walls closing in. There’s no room to move, to breathe. How did you get here?

Suddenly, that shiny object of desire, this other place that promised paradise when you were averse to Here, the delusion of something better, feels isolating. It’s not so special anymore.

What if cittabhavana is possible, the luminous nature of mindheart unclouded by mental defilements? Is it worth climbing out of the ditch to walk with awareness, to celebrate the transition from ignorance to freedom?

I don’t care if you fell. I’ve fallen, too. I’m so done with hiding in that pit. I want to feel sunlight on my face, rain washing away old perceptions of self.

Reflecting on the trench’s discomfort and what supported the way out, let’s catch glimpses of cittabhavana, our capacity for clear seeing, beauty, and joy. Let’s walk together.
​
We’ll fall again. Faith is trusting that one of us will discover the hole is a trap, a false refuge, holding a hand out to the other so we both take one step closer to Home.

What if all desire
soft-petaled, rose-scented
all aversion
pointed porcupine quills
were seen, heard, felt, known?
Would delusion still exist?
Could speech and action 
be motivated by something 
larger than the kilesas?
What kind of world do you want?
History starts now...
 
 
Behind every word, every action, there is a seed of intention, a motivation fueled by desire and/or aversion that that leads to the delusion of real connection. What do I want from you? How are you pissing me off? The subject of relational awareness is quite juicy, quite messy this way.
 
In Don’t Look Down on the Defilements, They Will Laugh at You, Sayadaw U Tejaniya writes, “Every intention comes with a motivation. Most motivations are defilements. Only if you fully recognize and understand defilements, wisdom will arise. Now wisdom will motivate your intentions.”
 
I notice in personal and not so personal relationships that there is often a soft-petaled desire for connection with others. It’s fascinating how much I will alter reality for a hit of rose-scented sweetness high. If you display any pointed porcupine quills in speech or action, you are the ultimate enemy. Get away! A temporary lapse of consciousness takes hold. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life.
 
What if I pause for one minute, one breath (and hopefully longer) to notice, name, and feel the contours of soft-petaled and pointed, their cumulative effects on the heart? Would delusion still exist? “Throughout our life we habitually seek and grasp. To sit back and just watch this happening is difficult. However, this sitting back and just watching is essential to become able to see and understand these habits.”
 
Speech and action can be motivated by something larger than the kilesas. Seeds of loving intention can be planted in the most arid desert or rugged terrain. The heart can bloom from any seed, regardless of fertile soil or fair weather. I have seen this happen, felt the ineffable peace of bodhichitta temporarily free of the kilesas. The connection with self and other is real, transcending the idea of you and me as separate beings. There is an energetic field of safe, loving awareness inviting all beings to enter sacred space. Don’t take my word for it. Come see for yourself. 
 
“You will be happier and get on more harmoniously with other people if you are clearly aware of whatever you do, wherever you are. This only comes easily when there is sustained momentum in the practice; it only becomes possible when there is natural awareness, when awareness becomes second nature.”
 
May we create space in our own hearts to belong, opening the heart door to others.
 
What kind of world do you want? History starts now...
 
​Notes:

Kilesas – The defilements. Greed, hatred, and delusion.
“Trying to create something is greed.
Rejecting what is happening is aversion.
Not knowing if something is happening or has stopped happening is delusion.”

Bodhichitta – The awakened mindheart. “The soft spot, a place as vulnerable and tender as an open wound. It is equated, in part, with our ability to love. Bodhichitta is also equated, in part, with compassion—our ability to feel the pain that we share with others.”