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.

The sunny side of the heart
is where we all want to live,
avoiding the shadow at any cost,
the chill of loss and loneliness
that lingers like thick fog.

What if true wealth
is not in the address
or the ratio of good to bad,
but the coin in your pocket,
with heads for joy
and tails for compassion?

May compassion transform pain
into the possibility of freedom,
understanding that a moment’s
richness was never dependent
on an external sun.
 
It’s the 7th straight day of waking up with a headache and some heartburn. What the hell is going on? Am I sleeping enough? Am I eating too much? Maybe it’s something on the taboo list. Too much chocolate? Am I worried about something? I thought the homeopathic remedy was working. Maybe I need another dose. What’s wrong with me???

As a physician, it’s easy for me to quickly analyze symptoms, form hypotheses for possible causes, and rule out conditions that don’t fit the diagnosis of what I am experiencing. It’s how I was trained. Western medicine is great for this kind of flawless, clear cut analysis. But is it so flawless and clear cut? And does this help a human like me with real fear and personal judgements about what’s going on?

In working with patients, I’m finding that astute clinical acumen is not as important as the ability to listen and appreciate their stories. A patient naturally wants an accurate diagnosis and therapy that will help them feel better. But the fears they share, the self-judgements that add layers to their suffering, aren’t easily alleviated with a quick prescription.

As humans, we desire security, satiety, sanity (and so much more). We want to live on the sunny side of the heart, avoiding illness, aging, loss, all dissatisfaction at any cost. I am no exception. I’d rather wake up with a clear head and belly ready to digest anything that comes my way with ease.

The thinking mind is helpful if it’s willing to ask wise discerning questions with curiosity and kindness, patient for the answers that come. It’s not helpful when the mind acts like a merciless lawyer interrogating me on the witness stand for a crime I didn’t commit.
 
What if the true wealth of this world, this life is not in the address of where you’d like to live, who you should be, or the ratio of good to bad moments? What if the coin in your pocket has joy on one side and compassion on the other side? Joy typically isn’t a problem for most of us. It’s the shadow side, the challenges in our lives that ask for compassionate attention.

We crave for things to be a certain way, cling to certain ideals. When we get what we don’t want, or push away things as they are, the heart space is filled with struggle. Only compassion can transform this pain into freedom. We don’t have to like what is happening. We do need to love the life that is being affected by the struggle. When we understand that a moment’s richness is never dependent on an external promise of happiness, we begin to trust our internal capacity to simply bear witness.

*****

It’s the 7th straight day of waking up with a headache and some heartburn. What the hell is going on? Before I pop an Advil or Zantac to prematurely block the inquiry, I sit still. Question marks and exclamation points float like balloons through this sky mind. Placing a hand on my heart, I breathe till the breath is not so constricted by fear and the judgments that follow. I feel compassionate presence growing stronger.

Though I’d rather celebrate a moment of pure joy, the realization slowly comes like a good friend tapping my shoulder to point out something I’ve missed. Among the question marks and exclamation points, images of Padmapani and lotus hearts begin to emerge.

*****

When our thoughts are stuck on the spin cycle of Samsara, we can press the pause button and use a different washer to purify these thoughts. Before we place the laundry coin in, we can notice how compassion and joy are two sides of the same coin, this vast heart that has space for it all. Welcome or not, each moment has the potential for full engagement, because of the coin in your pocket.

(Note: This reflection is not meant to minimize or gloss over the intense suffering that comes with chronic illness, loss, social unrest, environmental degradation, etc. It’s an invitation to explore the smaller inconveniences in life, to cultivate a compassionate presence that stays when the larger waves hit, to appreciate the flip of compassion to joy, and back to compassion, depending on what each moment requires. May the benefits of this inquiry be shared by all beings everywhere without exception.

​If this reflection is not helpful, let it pass in the sky mind till images that are useful to you appear. May your spiritual thirst for freedom lead you to your own fountain of meaning.)
​

I thought we would be friends forever. I thought we could overcome any obstacle of hurt. Maybe I was wrong.

A dear friend and I recently exchanged words that left us both feeling angry, stunned, and upset. I tried to bridge the gap of misunderstanding with acknowledgment of my contribution to the confusion. I also tried to respect her perspective without compromising my own. It was my idea of a peace offering. For her, it was a bomb that had sadly backfired. I was dangerous, and she didn’t want the enemy anywhere near her.

My thoughts would not stop trying to console me. They ranged from extremes of self-righteous positions blaming my friend, and inferior positions blaming myself for my heartlessness. Judging us both was painful, so painful, that I longed to think my way out if this tangle. What Buddhist practice could help me unravel this confusion? Was it the three characteristics of existence, the Four Noble Truths, the Eightfold Path, understanding of the Middle Way, or something else?

The harder I tried to understand, the tenser I got. During a weary morning sit, a voice reminded me to let go, surrender, and relax the resistance. That is the moment I began to heal with an embodied presence as opposed to a spiritual bypass. Over the next few days, I reached out to Sangha to help me process what happened. The above Buddhist concepts were no longer mental gymnastics that weakened understanding, but strengthened it through R.A.I.N.

I know in my heart that seeds of understanding are being watered, nurtured, and sprouting in silence. I don’t know what will happen to the friendship. Emotions of anger, fear, and sadness still rise like tidal waves threatening to drown and submerge my clarity in cold darkness. But I will no longer say no to them. I’ve been here before – past lives, previous relationships, praying for freedom. The heart must be irritated to form pearls of wisdom.
 
Reconciliation Prayer

I’m tired of trying to change you,
rattling the bars around this heart prison
expecting you to have the key.
Where’s the sunlight, connection, and joy in that?
What if i am an open door allowing
you to come and go as you please,
not trying to cage you with small thoughts,
but spacious awareness that sees everything?
What if i get to know you, understand you?
Would i choose to stay?
Dear Universe, help us find each other,
eyes meeting in peaceful resolve
till the first words spoken are kind.
 
May I be patient with this process of learning. May I be kind and gentle with myself, not taking these exchanges so personally. May I remember my sincere wish to wake up and attract relationships of wise, mutual understanding.

May the Universe support your need to be heard and understood. May you be happy, well, safe, peaceful, and at ease. May our eyes meet in peaceful resolve till the first words spoken are kind.

May all relationships (family, friendships, acquaintances, strangers, perceived enemies, animals, plants) be held in  wise reflection, wise exchange, wise effort, till the first words spoken are kind.

Great Falls by Mike Keller

Image by Unsplash

Dear Kaveri,
​

How I’ve missed you! I miss you when you visit the past trying to make sense of how and why things played out the way they did.  I miss you when you visit the future wanting to know the exact details so you won’t be swallowed by a potential land mine.  I miss you when you fantasize about an alternate reality that sounds better than this one.

I know that most times I am not all that exciting.  The few times that I am, you’ll want to fly into the future imagining more moments like this and where they might lead.  If I’m challenging, you might revisit the past and feel weighed down by much more than what is actually happening right now.  

Kaveri, you don’t get a demerit for leaving me.  I’m not like a ruthless god or angry parent who will only pay attention and care about you only if you’re perfect.  I understand the temptation to leave.  It’s in your genetics, your blood, your bones.  To reach for me, to return to the freedom and peace I offer takes a great deal of patience and courage.

Thank you for remembering me today.  Thank you for stopping periodically to connect with me, to receive my benevolence and well wishes for you on the inbreath, releasing past, future, and fantasy on the outbreath.  It is a radical act of kindness, of perseverance, of faith unlike any other.

May you know that no matter how often you leave me, you are always welcome here.  How I’ve missed you!
​
 
Your Faithful Friend on The Journey,
This Moment

Sunlit Wooded Path, Summer Green Trees by Carlin Blahnik

​Something is shifting in me.  It’s as if a new island is forming from volcanic eruptions of suffering.  I’m birthing something beautiful from past mistakes, and it feels really good.  It’s the realization and allowing of autonomy.  I can only best describe it through the vignettes below.
 
***
 
She’s here today for her annual physical checkup.  In addition to our discussion about certain labs, procedures, vaccinations, and radiographic studies that are due for her age and health risk factors, she tells me she suffers from headaches.  My questions are like shovels excavating for the deepest treasure, the deepest truth I can find in her.  I learn that she wants to be found, and feels buried alive by the weight of her son’s illness, her husband’s habits, her daughter’s transition to college.  She’d like to take a breath of fresh air for herself, but isn’t sure how to anymore.

We begin to discuss therapy for her.  She quickly deflects the idea as if it, too is just another means to an end she does not want to reach.  She’s tired of therapy, therapy for her son, her husband.  And where the hell have all these sessions gotten her?  More sedated, stoic, set in her ways.  I’m listening carefully.  Instead of pushing my own agenda on her like others have, I ask what self-care might look like for her.  After a thoughtful, introspective pause, there’s a spark in her stony black eyes.  “Yoga”, she whispers.  “I used to love yoga.”

In our last few minutes together, we explore where she’s been buried for some time, and how she might dig her way out.  My questions might be shovels, but I am confident that her first breath of fresh air, her head and neck stretching like a giraffe to reach the highest leaves and buds of trees close to Heaven, will be accomplished by the grace of her own effort.
 
***
 
Each day I ask if she has remembered to wear deodorant, wash her face, wear sunscreen, etc.  The annoyance and hurt in her voice is almost always predictable – a slingshot aimed at fighting back with a prolonged, “YEEEESSSS, MOOOOMMMM” to make sure it reaches and hits my heart hard.  Ouch!  I’m only reminding you because I care.  But what’s really underneath all this nagging and need for control?

As a tween myself, I was uber conscious about physical appearances, including dress and hygiene.  When you’re the ethnic minority in middle school and junior high, it’s easy to be the target of racial slurs and meaningless taunts for silly things.  I mean, did it really matter that my clothes came from National or Kmart when other girls’ clothes were tattooed in designer Guess or Esprit?

What if someone notices my daughter’s BO, the zits on her face, or other spots on her skin?  Will she still be liked, invited to birthday parties, and feel like school is just another home away from home?  Will her ‘friends’ be the perch supporting her as she flies to new heights of adolescent discovery -  academic, social, and extracurricular geographies she has never explored before?

One evening I come home from work as my daughter steps out of the shower.  Wrapped in a soft pink terrycloth robe with dripping hair the scent of a spring garden, she runs to give me a sweet and snug hug.  I can hardly believe that this tall and slender ten-and-a-half-year-old girl grew from the chubby, wide-eyed infant I held in my arms not so long ago.  I don’t ask about her swimming play date with a friend: whether she remembered to pack her goggles, lather her body in sunscreen prior to taking a dip in the pool, or even if she washed her face with the acne facial cleanser I bought for her months back. 

We simply stand there for a few moments locked in a tender embrace as I envision the future.  A young bird flies and falls, rising again and again to understand what the phrase The sky’s the limit means to her.  Feathers ruffled from the potential dangers of falling, her mother watches from the nest.  But she trusts Mother Earth and Father Sky to hold her daughter as they have held her all these years.  "May the wind always be at your back and the sun upon your face. And may the wings of destiny carry you aloft to dance with the stars." (George Jung)
 
***
 
opening a hand
releasing expectations, plans
ideas of who i am

silence fills the space
whispering my name
through waves of breath
​
voices of all beings
echo through this heart
till only one remains
 
Relationships are becoming less about what I want from others and more about listening for who they really are.  When my need to control or manipulate them is motivated by anxiety, it shows.  I’m tense; I say and do things I don’t mean; my hands are clenched fists disconnecting from others.
​
Opening a hand, releasing the tight grip of expectations, plans, ideas of who I am and what I should get, silence fills the space in meditation, whispering my name through waves of breath.  I hear the voice of all beings echo through my heart, the need to be heard, the yearning for autonomy, till only one remains.
One clear, collective voice of Love.