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.

Doubt arose on my last mindfulness retreat when conflict, drama, and trauma occurred.

Doubt surfaced on vacation while snorkeling, salt water stinging my nose and contact lens filled eyes as waves teased my life jacket.

Doubt appeared at work, home, and in the to do list when I was speeding to get things done and forgot mindful embodiment.

Doubt emerged when I was feeling inadequate in all my roles, when I projected these shortcomings onto my daughter and demanded more of her.

Doubt turned up with the holidays arriving as I was thinking of family, the distance between the way things should be and the way they really are.

Doubt can feel like a thick fog as the mind fires questions like shots in rapid succession, desperately searching for target answers. The mind hates uncertainty. It needs to know, now!

I sat with doubt in meditation, noticing thoughts, feeling the feelings, breathing, sensing the internal wind’s urgency to know. Feeling the zafu, yoga mat, and ground beneath me, the presence of enlightened ancestors surrounding me, this is what I heard:
 
I see you, Mara
and no longer have to believe
your thoughts that keep me
scared, small, stuck in a stone
prison where I cannot see
the Buddha touch the earth,
cannot hear him whisper
Ehipassiko, ehipassiko.
 
Why am I so homeless, searching
for sacred ancestry through thoughts?
I am Sakyamuni’s daughter,
Prajnaparamita’s granddaughter.
I will sit, breathe, walk, write
to remember my purpose, this path--
Earth Goddess calling me to ground,
Ehipassiko, ehipassiko.
 
Doubt, I see you. I don’t have to answer all your questions. I can answer some questions when I feel embodied, able, ready. The other questions may not need answers, but loving awareness and wise acceptance.

​Notes:

Mara- The demon who tempted the Buddha prior to his enlightenment. Doubt was Mara's final attempt to discourage the Buddha from believing his True Nature.

​Ehipassiko- Pali term for 'come and see for yourself'.

​Sakyamuni- Another name for the Buddha, born in Sakya, from the Sakya tribe.

​Prajnaparamita- The 'perfection of wisdom', the mother of all buddhas, the nature of reality.

Life supports us, gently turning our heads towards beauty when we are looking elsewhere. It also challenges us because it knows we are ready to rise to the occasion. Then why do we leave, looking for paradise somewhere else?

The urge to fight, flee, or freeze during difficult times is strong, biological, rehearsed from past experiences. Why stay if you're only going to get hurt? It helps to deepen the inquiry here. Is the threat real, or perceived? If perceived, do you have the physical, emotional, and spiritual support you need to stay?

Like many of you reading this, I have certain experiences I'd rather bypass. A patient with a laundry list of demands I don't have time to wash, dry, fold and iron. A tug of war conversation where I want to win and sustain minimal abrasions from the fight. A concern for a loved one or myself that feels like a nuclear threat rather than an opportunity for growth. Waking up from dreams that promote problems instead of peace.
​
So why learn to stay? According to a positive psychology article, the benefits of mindfulness are many, including:

 
-Decreased stress and psychological distress in adults and employees
-Enhanced mental health and functioning
-Increased emotion regulation and self-control
-Decreased anxiety, depression, worry, and rumination
-Reduced incidence of problem drinking and symptoms associated with problem drinking
-Enhanced academic achievement in students, due to improved ability to focus and improved attention
-Improved social and relational skills
-Reduction in aggression and problem behaviors in children
-Reduced symptoms of burnout in employees
-Decrease in turnover and turnover intentions at work
-Enhanced job performance
-Increased ability to cope with bullying
-Enhanced resilience in children
 
​
Though I appreciate the research, I trust my experience above all else. In addition to the benefits listed above, mindfulness has brought me to the greatest love I've ever known, the sweetest silence befriending me, freedom to fly beyond old stories and settings, a deep-rooted trust in where I'm standing.

 
I have this friend called Silence
always watching, always listening,
offering Kleenex to catch 
sniffles and tears
or high fives and knowing smiles
to celebrate awareness-
a kind om on the inbreath,
a grounded shanti on the outbreath,
meeting whatever comes 
with a deep bow,
trusting the messenger 
to heal me.
​
 
I still get angry, sad, scared. I still have doubts. But I’m learning to stay, trusting the messenger to heal me.  Pema Chödrön writes, “This very moment is the perfect teacher, and, lucky for us, it’s with us wherever we are.”
 
May we all learn to stay. May we all have the support we need to trust this moment as the perfect teacher.

​She shares some apprehension she’s feeling about an upcoming math test. I try to listen and let her know the final grade doesn’t matter. What matters most is her preparation for the test. If she comes back with a D, then it’s important to reflect on how this happened, and ultimately connect with us (her parents) for support and guidance.

Before I can complete my thoughts and communicate them with our daughter, my husband interrupts with his point of view. Suddenly, I lose track of where I am and what I’m doing, and feel waves of anger and hurt rise and fall in succession with no safe harbor to break against. It’s tempting to redirect this internal discomfort towards him, but I know from past experience it will only increase the height, force, and impact of the waves. I say nothing.

After the waves have surrendered to a gentle, rhythmic ebb and flow, curious and ready to connect with the shores of my husband’s experience (and share my own), I check in with him. There is a willingness to recede if he isn’t ready. The conversation flows well, and it feels as if two islands have made conscious contact through the wisdom in waves.

*****

​My dear friend from college and I are sharing a room at a hotel for a medical conference. She needs to leave early one morning to drive back home for her son’s soccer game. I’m awake before her alarm goes off in worried anticipation of how this will affect my sleep. It’s not her fault.

I immediately notice the jackhammer sensations in my temples and throbbing behind my eyes. I try to go back to sleep and manage to rest a few hours before getting up. But the damn tension headache is still there! Infusing the breath with kindness, respect, and forgiveness for a mind that generates anxious thoughts and joyful ones, I gently bathe the pounding sensations in loving awareness and even massage them physically. The pulsations are still there, but I am no longer angry, surprised, or disappointed.

*****

​Wise effort isn’t about having every conversation go well, or sleeping peacefully each night (though I still have a secret attachment to these outcomes:) It’s about weaving my wholesome intentions into the fabric of a larger universal design I cannot see. I need to trust that more and more of the design will be revealed when I am ready to learn and understand.
​
Wise effort is also supported by intentionally taking in the good. Psychologist, author, and teacher Rick Hanson says, “In effect, the brain is like Velcro for negative experiences, but Teflon for positive ones. That shades “implicit memory” – your underlying expectations, beliefs, action strategies, and mood – in an increasingly negative direction.”  It’s important to balance the negativity bias with joy. Here are some of Dr. Hanson’s suggestions on how to do this.
 
May we weave our wise efforts into the universal fabric of life, detaching from outcome as best as we can. May we incline our minds towards wholesome states of being and loving one another.
​
Thank you, Dear Ones in my life for being my greatest teachers!

Today I had the privilege of attending the 13th annual Mother’s Symposium at Stanford with guest speaker, author, mother, and grandmother Anne Lamott.  She shared so many beautiful pearls.  Where do I even begin?  Let me start here. 

Our culture sends a subliminal message of perfection, especially in the Silicon Valley.  Being sensitive, being different is simply not OK.  Our culture doesn’t tell us how hard it really is.  But Anne, recovering from alcohol addiction, bulimia, obsessive-compulsive disorder and anxiety says that transparency heals.  “If you can hang on and have two great trippy friends along the way, you will stay alive.  The way you are is the best possible way to be.  To wear a suit of armor is so much harder.”

Anne’s advice to mothers is that we all blow it.  We all screw up.  We all damage our children.  And we start over.  When we share our stories of vulnerability, we often exclaim, “Me, too!” in the process of discovery.  We’re scared to death that that we’ll lose our children, but we wouldn’t offer them anything we wouldn’t give ourselves.  All we need to do is ask them, “Do you need to eat or talk, cry or scream?”

In Palo Alto, an idyllic town tucked in between Stanford University and suburbia, green foothills and the Pacific coast, teen suicides have given cozy parents something more to think about than higher education, escalating back accounts or exotic vacations.  How can we ask our teens to be less than 10% scary so we can understand them?  How can we remind them each day that they are chosen for a higher purpose that we cannot know, that they are deeply loved?

Recounting her own parenting journey in raising her son, Sam, Anne shares a helpful acronym called W.A.I.T.  As parents, we often try to control our teens, especially on taboo topics such as sexuality, psychological health, and their future (what they should be doing now to prepare for their future).  Julianne Harvey said, “Help is the sunny side of control”.  Before we communicate with them, can we listen deeply?  Can we sense where we are trying to fix or change them for a certain outcome?  Can we ask ourselves to WAIT (why am I talking or texting) before speaking?

​For writers, Anne offers the following advice.  "Learn to love the eraser.  Listen better."  She draws a parallel between writing and parenting.  Learn to make mistakes.  After listening, rewrite the script, over and over again.

We are so hungry for something that is already here, something we already have.  Maybe our teens are also hungry for something that’s already here, something they already have.  When we stop, share stories, and listen, the armoring falls away.  What’s left is hope, not that This or That will happen, but that we will be surrounded by our closest friends no matter what.  Look how communities bond after natural disasters and the miracles that follow acts of kindness.  We don’t know certain things, but what we do know saves us.  The breath connects us umbilically to the universe, a higher power some call God or the Great Mystery.

The symposium is punctuated by Anne’s take on the invisible work of parenting.  For her, the invisible work is working on ourselves, noticing when we are trying to control things, what we might need before we can speak and act in ways that feel safe, warm, and inviting for our children.  What we expect of our children may have nothing to do with who they are.  Our own inner work is necessary to know them.
​
(The reflections above are based on my notes from the symposium.  If I have misquoted Anne or misunderstood any of her ideas, I offer my sincere apologies.)

Breathe into your heart.
It knows the way.
It also knows when you must pause
and anchor into this moment,
when your body’s hull is tossed
back and forth by thought waves
culminating into an emotional storm.

Breathe into your heart.
It is your wisest compass.
It knows when you are ready
to travel again towards True North,
the direction of non-harming,
when you can be a guiding light
for others ships lost at sea.

​Happy Valentine's Day everyone.
​May you have the space and support to pause when life feels like a storm.
​May your heart's compass be set towards True North, the direction of non-harming when you are ready to be a light for others.