Month: June 2025

Posted on by joseph mauricio

THE DHARMA OF LAUGHTER

Context, Release and Healing with Humor

In times of seemingly relentless anxiety and stress, laughter might feel inconsequential or even inappropriate. But just as we often forget to breathe under pressure, we also forget to smile. And just as it’s helpful to breathe through stress, we can choose to smile—or even belly laugh—when things become hard. That may sound crazy, but maybe that’s the point. Laughter is an irrational counter to the over-thinking, rational mask we use to face the world.

There’s a saying in the Zen tradition: half an hour of meditation is like an hour in the bath, and a good laugh is like half an hour of meditation.

Laughter is a full-body release that gives us a moment of reprieve, allowing body, spirit, and mind to reboot. Rather than our habitual slumping or caving in when we feel depressed, we can sit up straight. This may seem irrational, but in fact, we are helping the body release tension more effectively. When that happens, the mind finds clarity and confidence.

Just as laughter in the face of anxiety or fear seems counterintuitive, humor allows us to step back from the attack and access a broader frame. This shift in perspective releases tension, helping us feel strong, confident, and in control.

Muhammad Ali was the greatest boxer of his generation. As boxing is physically degenerative over time, he developed a technique he called the “rope-a-dope.” When hit, rather than let emotion or pain overwhelm him, he trained himself to relax against the ropes, shielding himself from further blows—as he and the crowd watched. This gave him time to reset. It was especially effective when he’d been hit hard—disheartening to an opponent who knew they had landed a brutal blow. Ali just danced against the ropes, laughing. It was a tactic that, while hilarious, seemed very disrespectful to some—including his opponent and their corner. And that was also the point.

Humor can be subversive. It can upend expectations and expose guarded truths. It might seem inappropriate to laugh during a panic attack on the bus, but we can learn to smile inside and gain silent mastery over our panic. And just like meditation, we can practice laughter therapy—out loud—at home or in the theater.

Whether it’s a belly laugh, smile, or giggle, humor gives us the context to see the bigger picture. Stress is inherently reduced by space. Our habitual somatic reaction to stress is to tighten parts of the body in an attempt to defend ourselves from something that isn’t there. This squeezing increases pressure on the brain, which registers a problem—though it’s not sure what’s actually happening—so it overthinks and catastrophizes. This often subsides over time, but residual hormonal effects can linger. Untreated stress and tension wear down the body. And often—most of the time—there’s nothing really happening. Why don’t we see that as irrational?

Smiling in the face of panic might be the most reasonable thing we can do. Smiling provides context—a space in which stress can be reduced. Laughter is an actual full-body release, and humor, in any of its forms, allows us to step back from panic and see it in a different light.

Humor is not only subversive to the powers that be in society—it also overturns the temple tables of our own ego system. Instead of reflexively shutting down, humor gives us perspective. Smiling offers strength. Laughter provides the release that opens us to the world.

A venue of people laughing at the same joke is a profound experience—even if they all hear it differently. The joke is only the transport system. It’s the gut punch of the joke that does the heavy lifting for our release.

Jokes are good when they make us laugh—but even bad jokes are good when we’re thinking that way. A good joke is an expression of technique. But it’s the timing and delivery that make it special. And when that timing and delivery aim at social injustice or psychological limitation, there’s real depth. Humor punches through the walls of limited thinking and lets a bit of air and space into the equation. Sometimes it hurls itself headlong into the wall. But if it’s spot on, it will enliven us, release us, and bring us into community.

Interestingly, that “community of humor” can also be divisive. And in the best of times, it turns conflict into conversation.

And if we bring humor into our meditation, we might learn to not take ourselves so seriously. And this might provide the space to smile.

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The pictures in this post are of a Hotai, often mistaken in the West for the Buddha, who in classical depictions was actually quite svelte. (Think Keanu Reeves.)  The figure represents wealth, happiness, and the joy of life along the Buddhist path. It’s meant to bring good luck, good fortune, and a reminder to smile.

Smiling, laughter and humor are all indications of victory over adversity.

The second picture is one I use often because I just love it: a baby rhinoceros, which always makes me smile. Baby Rhinos are awkward and ungainly, yet so utterly joyful as they bounce around clumsily, as though they were puppies, completely unaware of how improbable they are.  

Both images remind me of the power of cheerfulness and joy.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

ENLIGHTENMENT

A Beginner’s Guide to The Mind’s Great Awakening

Enlightenment. They say those who have reached enlightenment never speak of it, and those who speak of it have never reached it.

This makes me uniquely qualified to speak about it.

First, we might define this well-worn, well-used term. To me, enlightenment is the experience of a mind stabilized in a state of perpetual wakefulness. Wakefulness is the mind freed from its habitual misconceptions—those distortions shaped by attachment, bias, and ignorance. When the mind is free of ignorance, it naturally reveals its innate wakefulness. In other words, it connects with wisdom. So wisdom, it seems, is the mind’s natural state. So, reaching enlightenment should be easy. All we need to do is identify and remove any obstacles to the mind finding its way home.

Simple, yes. But not so easy. Awakening into our natural state requires dis-believing all the sticky things the world throws at us, as well as the equally sticky parts of a mind that has been conditioned by sticky views based on avarise, aversion and avoidance. Buddhist texts refer to these wrong views collectively as ignorance as they are based on not knowing – or believing our true selves. Ignorance, therefore, is the converse of wisdom.

Wisdom is not the same as knowledge or learning. It is not an accumulation, but an opening—an attunement to something already present, both within and beyond the individual. Some say it is a cosmic state, natural throughout the universe. The experience of that knowing openness is what we call wakefulness. Enlightenment is when this wisdom experience becomes stabilized.

If wisdom is an experience of an open mind rather than a product of accumulated learning, then learning, while important, can also become an obstacle. It develops the mind, yes—but it also risks inflating the ego, which encumbers the mind with things about itself, thus reducing the clarity of mind needed for direct perception. The enlightened mind sees beyond concepts and egoic frameworks to direct contact with reality as it is. Terms like “as it is,” “just so,” or “things as they are” are used traditionally to describe clear seeing. In this sense, enlightenment may not be the exalted or elevated state that some fancy it to be. In fact, enlightenment might be quite ordinary. simply seeing reality, within and without, clearly, as it is.

Just so.

Chögyam Trungpa once suggested that enlightenment is not a higher state, at al but the “lowest of the low of experiences.”  This opening of the mind occurs when the conceptual mind exhausts itself.

The process of exhausting can sometimes be an excruciating. I’m not convinced the path must be torturous, but traditionally, it does involve a dislodging of pride, ego, and fixed identity. That dislodging—the letting go of our tight grip on self— happens to all of us, often through painful experiences. It happens when the world dissolves and our hearts crack open leaving us with no energy to struggle, and no. recourse but to accept and open.

There is a saying: Disappointment is the chariot of liberation. For example, when we break up with a partner to whom we were deeply attached, the pain is twofold. First, we grieve the separation. But more subtly, we also grieve the loss of the identity that was constructed around that relationship. And it is precisely that identity that can obscure sustained wakefulness. Some traditions suggest renouncing relationships for this reason. Others say that enlightenment can emerge even amidst attachment, addiction, and the turmoil we create by continually substantiating ourselves to ourselves.

This leads to the idea of the inseparability of Samsara and Nirvana. Samsara is the endless wheel of attachment, addiction, and suffering—the habitual conditioning of the mind. Nirvana is its absence: the opening to clarity, to wisdom beyond the self. While some traditions aim to withdraw from Samsara entirely, my tradition teaches that we can live within Samsara and still see its emptiness—its insubstantiality—and the illusory nature of what the world claims as true.

Astronauts who have seen Earth from space often describe it as a profound, perspective-shifting experience—one filled with awe, tenderness, and love for this fragile blue orb that nurtures life. In this way, enlightenment can be likened to a vast perspective—one that sees beyond itself, and continues to see beyond itself, again and again. As Pema Chödrön says, it’s like peeling the layers of an onion. The unveiling of misconception and delusion is an ongoing process.

From this point of view, perhaps there is no fixed, stabilized state to attain. Stephen Hawking, in his later work, concluded that there is no single grand unified theory of physics—only different theories that illuminate reality from different angles. Understanding, then, is not about finding the final answer, but about seeing through various perspectives, again and again.

If enlightenment is, in fact, the stabilization of perpetual transition, then it means the mind has trained itself to remain open regardless of circumstance. Tara Brach refers to this as “radical enlightenment”—the mind’s ability to experience, open, experience, open, again and again, never resting in the security of fixed ideas.

Perhaps the enlightened experience is completely present and spontaneous—leading nowhere, clinging to nothing, understanding nothing beyond what is actually here, now. Maybe it is very simple and our journey is to stop complicating it. This open naivete is called “beginner’s mind”.  Not over thinking, but learning. Enlightenment for dummies, you might say. Chics hatching into a new world. Babies opening their eyes. Life all around us, indomitable unstoppable often overlooked but always there.  And we can join that quite simply.

A being in a state of perpetual learning.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

THE OUTRAGEOUS ACTION OF COMPASSION

When Cruelty Becomes the Norm

Photos by Maria Lau, on site at “No Kings” NYC

As violence in our culture becomes increasingly normalized, we naturally begin to grow desensitized. This is, in some ways, a psychological adaptation—our minds regulating themselves in order to survive the constant barrage of suffering and threat. But this normalization shifts our internal baselines: what was once unthinkable becomes merely uncomfortable… and then, quietly, becomes acceptable. Like the proverbial frog in water slowly brought to a boil, we may not notice what’s happening until it’s too late—until the flesh falls from our bones. I only hope we make a wonderful human stew.

At a recent No Kings protest, a photographer friend of mine saw a sign that read: “When cruelty becomes normal, compassion seems radical.”

That idea struck me deeply. The forces of hatred and cruelty have become so embedded in our society that speaking out against them can provoke backlash, censorship, or isolation. Yet if we don’t speak out, that same darkness begins to seep inward. As Joe Strummer once warned, “We’re working for the clampdown.” And here we are—told to “get along, get along.”

How does someone committed to nonviolence and kindness push back against a rising tide of ignorance? Perhaps the answer is in the question. If ignorance is the disease, then the antidote is the clear and courageous offering of truth. Wherever we can—through conversation, media, art, or daily example—we must counter distortion with clarity.

This is a time for artists, creatives, philosophers, and writers to rise up—not with dogma, but with presence and heart. We must choose roles that contribute meaningfully to society. Art matters. It always has.

I’m reminded of how, during the Nazi occupation of France, playwright Jean Anouilh staged Antigone as a veiled indictment of collaboration and authoritarianism. The occupying forces didn’t catch the deeper meaning—but the people did. Similarly, Eugène Ionesco’s Rhinoceros warned of creeping fascism through absurdist allegory. Not all protests need to be loud; some speak powerfully through metaphor.

The same applies to our own hearts. If we root ourselves in compassion—true, fearless compassion—we tap into something far more potent than self-righteous anger. The image of the bodhisattva comes to mind: a humble servant, setting aside ego and personal gain in order to benefit others. This isn’t weakness. It’s one of the most powerful stances we can take.

Compassion doesn’t have to be grand. It can start with expanding the circle of our care—from pets, to friends, to strangers, and even to adversaries. If we nurture that inner warrior of compassion, we can become strong in the face of repression, wise amid ignorance, and peaceful in a violent world.

Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche once used the image of the Garuda—a mythic bird that soars with fearless compassion—to represent what he called the “outrageous” bravery of an open heart. He said this kind of bravery defies our narrow, self-protective instincts. It dares us to leap beyond the smallness of self-concern into the vastness of humanity.

And make no mistake: those who cling to strength through violence, hateful rhetoric, and domination are often the most frightened among us.

How, then, do we respond? By showing up. By being sane, balanced, and clear—even when the world around us isn’t. Each moment of calm presence, each small act of compassion, offers sanity back to a world that desperately needs it. Whether it’s just one person at the coffee shop or a room full of people at a talk—your kindness matters.

Even more outrageously: we may end up benefiting the oppressors, too. That’s the radical nature of true compassion. No enemies. No kings. No victims. No heroes. Just human beings—some who will listen, and some who won’t. But compassion doesn’t require agreement. It requires courage.

When I hear the phrase “We are all children of God,” I feel the deep equality of sentient life. In Buddhism, we speak less of God as a figurehead, and more of the innate Buddha nature in all beings that sparks awakening in us all. That is the wellspring of our strength. Tapping into this goodness allows us to face cruelty with clarity, to stand in danger with dignity, and to act with courage.

When cruelty becomes the norm, those who remain awake become strong reminders of sanity.

But have as we face cruelty in our world can we face the cruelty in own mind? How do we treat ourselves? How do we speak to ourselves? We don’t have to follow along with oppression, even our own. We can take the brave step of facing our own life with kindness, so we have the strength to face the world. The Shambhala teachings urge us to be “kind to ourselves and merciful to others.” It all starts with “Maitri” or lovingkindness for ourselves.

When we choose kindness in the face of cruelty, whether in our society or our mind we are taking an outrageous step—not just to change the world, but to trust in our own basic goodness. And if that changes nothing but our belief in ourselves we’ve taken an outrageous step forward.

 And maybe that changes everything.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

THE COURAGE OF AN OPEN HEART

Developing Compassion in Action

The word compassion evokes many ideas—some relatable, others unrealistic or vague. This lack of definition makes it more of an idea than an experience. We often equate it with kindness and softness, but rarely with strength and resilience. Can it be all of the above?

I want to look at compassion from a practical point of view. What is our lived experience? And how can we draw on that experience to remain strong amid the turbulence life throws our way? When frightened, we often retreat from experience and hide behind ideas.

Ideas are maps—they help us identify events, but they remain separate from lived reality. In Buddhism, we value experience over concept. And while it’s good to study the teachings on compassion, what does compassion look like in everyday life?

If we pay close attention, we might find that compassion, kindness, and love are available to us all the time. Petting a kitten, playing with a dog, holding a child—these simple moments of goodness are opportunities to communicate directly with life.

Rooted in loving-kindness, these ordinary acts help soothe our overtaxed nervous systems and reconnect us to the living world. Yet we often overlook their profundity because they seem so ordinary. In truth, compassion is happening all the time, everywhere—and, as the movie put it, all at once. Every time a flower blooms, a tree sways, or birds sing, nature is communicating. But because we’re conditioned to prioritize the negative, it’s negativity that often colors our view of the world.

When we face great difficulties, we assume we need powerful remedies. This “fight fire with fire” approach keeps aggression center stage. But it’s surprisingly easy to turn our minds toward the goodness available to us right now. Just breathing isn’t as glamorous as swinging a hammer against injustice, but we help no one if we can’t replenish ourselves with love. The birds singing outside my window, like Leonard Cohen’s “bird on a wire,” are an amazing and accessible reminder of our connection to life—if I care to listen.

That said, birdsong alone is no match for the hatred and destruction we encounter daily. The horrors of war, aggression, terror, and greed are very real—but they exist within the greater framework of a living, nurturing planet. If we look only at one side of this equation, we miss the big picture.

It would be a mistake to divide the good from the bad entirely. We live in a world that frightens us. We read the news, and it frightens us further. To escape, we go on retreat and cultivate compassion, kindness, and love. And for a moment, we feel relief. Then we return home, and within days that feeling fades. Deep self-care is valid, but the relief it offers is unsustainable unless we integrate it into everyday life. A mud bath does not encompass the full range of our experience.

Perhaps the healthiest and most practical approach is to weave together the negativeand the positive—to hold the full picture of existence. Seeing only the good is shallow and ignores the privilege many of us enjoy. Seeing only the bad can become a form of masochistic narcissism—doomscrolling until we’re depleted and numb. Neither extreme offers real respite, and both limit our ability to stay joyful and engaged. Either way, it’s still all about me.

If we stop viewing “positive” and “negative” as opposites and instead see them as energies—one promoting connection, the other disconnection—we can begin to use compassion as a tool for healing both personal and collective suffering. The teachings on compassion invite us to retrain the mind to see all things as equal parts of a greater whole. Just because we don’t like something doesn’t mean it’s evil. Do we have the hubris to make that call? Humility lies at the heart of the big view. Compassion invites us to STFU and see it all.

We will never eliminate pain, suffering, or injustice. But we can be voices for balance, comfort, kindness, and peace. “Peace,” in this case, doesn’t mean utopia. It means peace within turmoil.

I love the audacity of John and Yoko’s campaign: War is Over (If You Want It). It wasn’t just a slogan—it was a vision, splashed across Times Square in 1970. Can you imagine? Yet, as some readers will point out, Lennon was often aggressive, even violent. In response to accusations he had abused his wife Cynthia and assaulted friends, he admitted that his own violence was what taught him the value of peace. He had to confront himself and make a vow to change. His public message was an attempt to use his privilege to help the world.

The compassionate view isn’t that we can get rid of suffering, but that we can wake up and make conscious choices. We can share with others what we’ve learned about ourselves—the cruelty within our own psychology, and how we’ve worked to transform it. As the saying goes, compassion begins at home.

It’s unrealistic to think we can heal a chaotic world if our own lives are out of balance. But it’s equally dishonest to pretend we’re perfect. In fact, our imperfections can become bridges. Because we all share pain, our struggles can help us connect. Aligning with principles of goodness allows our lives to lean toward openness—and from there, wisdom can arise. But we must do the work: look within, face the damage, and also honor the goodness we’ve received. It is not a crime to notice the life and love all around us.

If we let cruelty defeat us, we burn out. But if we hold our seat and restore our inner strength—our windhorse—then simply by being awake, alive, and available, we can choose compassion before reacting from ignorance. When we pause to heal ourselves, we benefit our families, our communities, and the world.

We don’t need to fix the world. It’s not on us to change the course of ignorance. But if we want to cultivate compassion, it is on us not to contribute to ignorance. The world has existed for over four billion years and will go on long after humanity is gone. We may not destroy the planet, but we can certainly destroy ourselves. And even if ecosystems collapse—as they have five times before—life will return. Life is resilient. It grows from rock, from ash, from mud.

And that same resilience lives in us.

We can draw strength from the world’s goodness. We can tune into that growth. We can learn from it. We can become like seedlings pushing through the cracks in the asphalt—proud of our strength, humble enough to take our place. As we grow, we nourish the world simply by being alive. And we reduce harm by reducing self-importance.

We are not more special than anything else in nature. But we do have the gift of conscious choice. And we can use that gift wisely if we remain conscious. Too often, we turn self-reflection into a weapon—against ourselves and others. But maybe we can stop using our wisdom as a cudgel, and instead cultivate true awareness—not self-centeredness, but self-knowledge that sees beyond itself into the fullness of life.

And maybe we can learn to care for ourselves and be more present in our lives.

I don’t know why I posted the picture below, except that I love this lady. She makes me smile. And everytime I smile, an angel in my brain gets wings. But she’s also inspiring. She’s fine with her looks and weight. She seems unbothered by the defensive skin she’s covered in. That’s her way. Much of her life may be hard—but in this moment, she doesn’t seem to mind. She just naturally does the next right thing.

And I feel like she loves her mother very much.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

COMPASSION IN ACTION

The Strength of an Open Heart

The word “Compassion” evokes many feelings and ideas—some relatable, others unrealistic. This lack of clear definition can render it more a concept than a living, breathing experience. In Buddhism, we value experience over concepts because what we imagine is always a few steps away from what is. And while it is certainly good to study teachings on compassion, we can point to our everyday experience and see how much we are already experiencing. From there, we can become more aware of the natural goodness 0f our mind and the world.

Petting a kitten, playing with a dog, holding a child—these are simple moments of basic goodness. In these simple moments, we are profoundly communicating with the universe. Rooted in loving-kindness, these ordinary acts help heal our overtaxed nervous systems and reconnect us with the living world. Everytime we smile we turn on the lights. And everytime we turn on the lights we are building connections to life.

Compassion is something most of us experience daily, but we often don’t recognize this because these moments seem too ordinary. In fact, compassion is happening all the time, everywhere, and—to quote the movie title—all at once. Every time a flower blooms, every time a tree sways, every time birds sing from their nests, nature is alive and communicating. Yet because we are conditioned to value negative experiences more than positive ones, it’s negativity that often colors our view of the world. When I say “view of the world,” I’m referring to how concepts cut us off from physical contact with life. We live sequestered from life, locked in our minds. Like kids searching social media in a darkened basement, we scroll through the doom looking for something real. And war and hatred feel so true to us.

Birds singing are not an antidote to the horror and destruction of war, but they are also not irrelevant. The horrors of war, aggression, terror, and greed exist within the greater framework of this living, loving, eternally nurturing planet on which we live. It would be a mistake to separate the good from the bad entirely. We live in a world that frightens us. We read about it in the news, and it frightens us further. To escape, we book a retreat upstate and cultivate compassion, kindness, and love for all beings. And for a moment, we feel relief. Then we return home, and within days that feeling may wane.

But both of these experiences are true.

Buddhism speaks of the inseparability of samsara and nirvana. The healthiest and most practical approach may be to weave together the negative and the positive—to stay aware of the full picture of our existence. If we stop seeing “positive” and “negative” as opposite, and instead see them as energies—one promoting well-being, the other promoting disconnection—we can begin to use compassion to help heal both our personal suffering and the broader suffering of the world.

We will never eradicate pain, suffering, or injustice entirely. But we can be voices for balance, comfort, kindness, and peace. And “peace,” in this case, doesn’t mean utopia. It means peace within turmoil.

I love the audacity of John and Yoko’s ad campaign: “War is Over (If You Want It).” It wasn’t just a slogan—it was a vision, displayed boldly on billboards in Times Square.

The compassionate view isn’t that we can get rid of suffering, but that we can wake people up to make conscious choices. We can show others what we’ve seen in ourselves: the underpinnings of cruelty within our own psychology, and the ways we’ve worked to transform them. As the saying goes, compassion begins at home.

It’s unrealistic to think we can heal a world in chaos if our personal life is full of turmoil and imbalance. That doesn’t mean we have to be perfect. In fact, our frailties can become our bridges. Because we all share pain, our struggles can help us connect. We need to align with principles of goodness, so that our lives lean more toward openness—and through that, more wisdom can shine into the world.

The idea is simple: fully see, feel, touch, and participate in your world. Then do what you can—for yourself, and outwardly for others. We can lead by example. We can lead by sharing our journey and our pain. Not by being pristine, but by being real. We’re in the trenches with all of humanity, trying to find goodness in a world where goodness and cruelty are fused.

If we let cruelty discourage us, our energy will deplete. But if we hold our seat and secure our own balance—so that our windhorse, our inner strength, is high—then simply by being awake, alive, and available, we are helping to heal ourselves, our families, our communities, and the world itself.

We don’t need to fix the world. The world has existed for over 4 billion years and will continue long after humanity. No matter how ignorant or greedy we become, we cannot kill the Earth—we can only destroy our own possibility for life on it. And even then, when ecosystems collapse—as they have five times before—life has always returned. It is resilient. It is eternal. It grows from rock, from ash, from mud. It cannot be stopped.

But we can tune into that growth. We can learn from it. We can become like seedlings pushing through the cracks in the sidewalk—proud of our strength and capacity to grow. And as we grow, we nourish the world around us simply by being.

We are not more special than anything else in nature—except that we have been given the gift of conscious choice. But we must use that choice wisely. Trees don’t second-guess their worth. Birds don’t worry about becoming lunch. They just are. Yet we, with our gift of reflection, often turn it into a weapon against ourselves.

Let’s stop using self-awareness as a cudgel of self-criticism. Let’s develop true awareness—not self-centeredness, but self-knowledge. Let’s see clearly the tiny part we play in the vast unfolding of life, and take responsibility for our role.

We may not be able to shift or free anyone but ourselves. But every time we liberate ourselves from a habitual pattern, every time we turn our minds toward freshness and truth, we benefit the whole.

In recovery programs, they say: “Keep your side of the street clean, and take the next right step.”

We could all benefit from that kind of humility.

We could all benefit from the humility of persistence—of simply carrying on, representing goodness in a world of turmoil.

Would you like to develop this into a talk, a post, or a longer piece (like a short book)? I’d be happy to help shape it accordingly.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

FEELING THE FEAR

LIBERATION FROM OUR STRUGGLE WITH FEAR

A dedicated, consistent meditation practice will uncover our body/mind experience and awaken our innate awareness. We begin to see the world more clearly, but also begin to understand ourselves more deeply. Our burgeoning awareness uncovers psychological and physical blockages that inhibit our deeper knowing. We begin to see obstacles that we have unwittingly created as a reaction to fear.

As we gain confidence in our process we find the strength to take ownership of these obstacles which, in turn, give us the opportunity to overcome them. When it comes down to it, it’s about fear. We all have fear – in fact it’s a necessary part of our psychology. But, from a transformational point of view, Franklin Roosevelt was wrong. Then, as now, there is much to fear. The issue becomes how we react or respond to those fears. Can fear lead us to opening? Or will it ever relegate us to patterns that keep us locked in to ourselves?

When our body registers fear, its usual reaction is to grip to itself in protection. This gripping actually amplifies the fear, and closes us away from uncovering a sane response. As these gripping fears, and their associated constrictions, become apparent in our meditation practice, we begin to understand how much we have limited ourselves and our lives. This highlights a claustrophobia we had heretofore felt mostly unconsciously. So, as the obstacles to our liberation become more apparent, this claustrophobia feels heightened.  We see how we’re hiding from our life, yet the most effective form of relief, however, is not escape—but recognition. Mindfulness of our fear, and taking responsibility for our reactions to it are uneasy and disquieting, but nonetheless essential to liberation from our fear. We are reprogramming ourselves not to run from the discomfort, but to use the discomfort to see ourselves. Perhaps, this is what we’ve been looking for. Not love, not the great job, not an escape. Maybe what we’ve been looking for us to understand ourselves so we can move beyond our grip.

When we learn to stay present with our experience and gently redirect the mind toward strength, presence, and compassion, something opens. Many of the limitations we face are fear-based, rooted in early childhood trauma or even inherited intergenerationally. Language itself, shaped by culture and survival, may carry trauma. These influences can cause us to shut down in subtle or dramatic ways, shrinking our sense of freedom, openness, and understanding. Love has the power to will open us to the world and so we seek it out. But the fear of losing love keeps us locked into patterns of manipulation and coercion in order to establish a power we have never had. The power is love itself. As soon as it becomes “ours” it becomes limited. When we lock in the love, we also lock in the fear and close ourselves off to understanding.

Shutting down—often a reaction to fear—gives rise to ignorance: not-knowing. This is an obstacle to developing wisdom. And wisdom is key to freeing ourselves from these cycles of suffering.  We begin to see a distinction between a “locked-in” self—constructed in response to fear and doubt—and our deeper, more dynamic existential being. Some might call this “essential being” or even “soul,” though in general, Buddhism doesn’t regard the soul as a fixed entity destined for reward or punishment. Instead, it recognizes an inner spirit—the energy of development, change, and awakening. It is up to us to encourage that development if we choose.

This spirit is not defined by fear-based structures. Yet we nonetheless fabricate constricting forms to safeguard the very spirit they are limiting. This is like having open windows on a beautiful day and decide to close them in order to keep the fresh air in.  Our reactions to fear obscure our natural expression—our basic goodness, our Buddha nature. The remedy is to open to the windows and step back from the fear. Recognize and accept it so we can have a conversation with ourselves. Our luminous nature is bound in a straitjacket, with parts of us internally scratching at the ground, yearning to be free. This friction—this discernment—can give birth to wisdom if we’re willing to take a moment to understand.

The precursor to the process of uncovering ourselves to recognition and acceptance. The point is to see the fear, to see how its limiting us. and to feel the claustrophobia we have wanting to be free.  Yet, liberation is not an escape. Its an acceptance of our condition so that we can have a loving conversation with ourselves. We will never be free of fear – if we’re awake we’ll see much to fear. But with dedicated practice with the view of training the mind to see beyond itself we can let fear be an ally. Instead of following thoughts propelled to imagined catastrophes, we can take the very brave step and turn inward back to ourselves and feel. Not think about what we feel, but come back to ourselves again and again until we gain the strength to face what is actually happening.