Say You Want a Revolution?
“You say you want a revolution, well you know, we’d all love to see the plan.”
— John Lennon
We’ve talked about stasis and change: the need to regroup, find a home base, and connect with ourselves. Naturally, this leads to a desire to move beyond that base and explore new horizons. Interestingly, I personally struggle with both the claustrophobia of a static environment and a reluctance to change it. It’s a tough bind.
Often, when we feel the itch to break away from our home base, we fantasize about a new place we’d rather be—a new partner, a new job, or even a new body that will transform us into something… what exactly? “Once I transform my body, I’ll find the job that leads to a new partner.” Meanwhile, I stay stuck because instead of tackling one thing, I’m layering conditions: I can’t do this until I do that, but I can’t do that because of something else.
Clearly, I haven’t mastered the art of change. Maybe it’s not laziness or incompetence; maybe I’m trapped in a pattern and don’t know how to break free. The first step is to settle down. Struggling doesn’t help—working does, but only in a clear direction. Instead of pursuing six different goals at once, I could pick one and encourage myself to move forward.
Are you stuck in a pattern, or even a series of patterns that feel immovable? A mindful investigation of being stuck involves unpacking and examining how we got here. What are we doing in our struggle to free ourselves, like being trapped in a Chinese finger trap? Is it productive or just uncomfortable? Let’s explore.
First, we’re in a state of non-acceptance, which triggers unhelpful struggle. Ironically, before change can happen, we must first accept where we are. One major obstacle to acceptance is our unexamined fantasies about what we think we want. I remember once trying to pursue my dream of working in independent films. Transitioning from stage and comedic improv to the detail-oriented world of film shoots—and I hated it. I also couldn’t stand the endless cycle of auditions. What I loved was being in creative flow, not the grind of auditioning.
This isn’t a judgment of those who thrive in film work, but an acknowledgment of my own discomfort. What’s important is that my fantasy was entirely different from reality. I once attended a coaching workshop with a former extreme fighter pilot who became a commercial airline pilot. He said, “My life now feels like driving a bus across a desert—endlessly, monotonously.” Reality didn’t match his childhood dream.
Fantasies aren’t reality because we don’t truly examine what they would cost us or entail. They provide a direction to head toward but aren’t the destination. As I’ve heard it said, “A fantasy without a plan is a hallucination.” Hallucinations can be interesting, but they’re not a viable life plan.
The first step in creating change is accepting where we are—not by endorsing or trying to like it, but simply grounding ourselves in reality. From here, fantasies can become inspiration, not burdensome expectations. A view of a mountain might inspire us, but it doesn’t have to be a goal we must reach—it’s just a direction.
Accepting where we are, and being inspired by new possibilities, are the first steps. Once we’ve determined our direction, we can move authentically toward that view. But to make it a reality, we have to overcome the resistance to movement. Even when we want change, parts of us—often unconsciously—resist it.
A teacher once said, “Obstacles are meant to be difficult. What kind of obstacle worth any merit would be easy?” Instead of seeing resistance as self-sabotage, it’s more helpful to understand it. Seeing where we apply the brakes without judgment helps ease the process forward. Fear of change is natural.
I’ve identified three categories of resistance: mind, spirit, and body. These are foundational in meditation, Buddhism, and yogic philosophy.
Starting with the mind, we often assume that just knowing we should lose weight, get a job, or leave a relationship will make it happen easily. But unaddressed fears and obstacles stop us. The mind can see the view, but it also needs clarity. “I want my life to change.” Okay, but what specifically do I want to change first? For me, it’s my health and well-being, including my diet, as I’m overweight. But dieting alone doesn’t work long-term—it usually backfires. That’s because the spirit or heart isn’t fully aligned with the mind’s goals.
Once the mind clarifies its wants, we need to ensure we believe in them. This requires self-reflection and doing things for personal growth, not for external validation. What do I really want?
On a spiritual level, we face early fears or unmet needs that resist change. We need to negotiate with those parts of ourselves, assuring that this change is for our best interest. This could be as simple as telling ourselves, “I love you, and this is the best step forward.” Spiritually, we must avoid negativity and self-judgment. It’s about deeply coming on board with our vision of change.
Finally, the body is the most ancient part of us, focused on survival. It resists change, even though change is necessary for thriving. This is why sticking to simple changes like exercise can be so hard. The body responds to force but often reverts to comfort.
In substance abuse counseling, a 90-day commitment to sobriety is often recommended because the body needs time to adjust. This three-month period is crucial for the body to embrace a new pattern.
The mind might think it controls the body, but the body operates on its own terms. We need to slow the mind to the level of the heart, and the heart to the level of the body, to truly enact change.
The social and political implications are clear. Before we can change anyone’s perspective, we must first understand their needs. Calling someone a fool for holding different views achieves nothing. The “other party” might not support their leader as much as they yearn for change. How can we encourage that change to benefit everyone?
Struggle can strengthen, as a butterfly gains the power to fly by pushing out of its cocoon. Change may require effort, but it doesn’t have to be self-defeating if we know where we’re going.
We’d all love to see the plan.
While life seeks a safe place to rest, it also repeatedly ventures beyond its comfort zone to explore and evolve. Life has always been challenging, yet resilience is less about brute force and more about channeling energy into a sustainable flow. The idea of overcoming life’s obstacles through sheer grit and determination may sound heroic, but in reality, our journey through life is much more nuanced.
As we open our hearts to others, we risk re-experiencing past pain. The process of pulling inward for self-care and then extending outward to connect with others is essential for growth. Reaching out is vital because it allows us to learn about the world around us. However, those who experienced significant trauma in childhood may struggle to form connections and attachments.
Although masculine and feminine are inseparable, we can separate them to examine the distinct qualities each energy entails. The Tao Te Ching posits that the receptive complements and completes the creative. By considering this provisional binary, we can recognize that each of us has both assertive and receptive qualities. As we become more aware of these energies, we can learn to balance them.
Feminine energy cannot be owned; it is the very nature of the universe. Recent explorations of “dark matter” may be investigating this ancient energy, which existed before light. As all things—past, present, and future—exist in space and the universe, that ancient energy still holds and drives the expansion of the universe. The suggestion is that feminine energy is dark energy, predating creation and birth. Light, as a masculine energy, illuminates the dark, allowing us to perceive it, but the preceding, self-existing condition is feminine. Therefore, light is crucial to the creation of our universe and consciousness, but the darkness of the womb is the primordial state.
The mother cares for and protects the child on the most intimate level. We can extend this concept to include the creation of any kind—such as art, spirituality, or poetry. Personally, I write my creative work with a feminine voice, as it connects me to the sensitive, delicate part of myself essential for writing. The mother upholds our creative being, giving birth to the creator and nurturing the maturation of that creation. Regardless of societal or personal dynamics, every aspect of reality is connected to the feminine. The mother holds, nurtures, and creates us.
The maiden is symbolized by the dakini, often depicted in her late teens or early maturity. The dakini’s energy is linked to sexual awakening and discovery, which can sometimes lack compassion. While the dakini entices and softens the creative energy to approach her, she follows a deeper wisdom. Though often depicted as naked, in flames, and dancing in the sky, her connection is to the sacred feminine space of the universe, an energy predating all things. Her energy might seem capricious because she is linked to a higher order or her own feminine clan or community, making her actions incomprehensible to a more rigid, linear, masculine perspective. Thus, the maiden is always one step ahead of comprehension, dancing in flames in space. Though youthful and sexually appealing, the maiden exists within all of us. You can see her in the eyes of an older person in love or feel her in the embrace of someone who pushes you away for no discernible reason. In our male-dominated society, there has been an attempt to dominate and control this capricious energy, but the dakini cannot be controlled or possessed. She can be held, calmed, or tamed, but only provisionally. Like fire, with which she is associated, she warms, enlightens, reveals darker truths, but can also burn and move from one source of fuel to the next.
At that point, the dakini may leave us, her purpose fulfilled. Alternatively, this energy may transform into a more sustainable form, like the nurturing energy of the sister, akin to ducks that mate for life, swimming together in balanced harmony. Or it may evolve into the protective energy of the mother, who guides and shelters her brood.
So, let’s break down the components of this elephant. The elephant stands on the notion of a “self“. At some point in human evolution we became conscious. That localized sense of perceiving began to organize itself into an entity that is aware of itself. This allowed us a vantage from which to navigate an otherwise unmanageable sea of possibility. Yet, that navigation comes at the cost of limiting those possibilities. This notion of self is a necessary limitation in order for consciousness to have a reference point. Ego is a further limitation of those possibilities. Ego happens as self-awareness becomes a self-consciousness that assumes itself to be self-existing. This assumption of “me” can become a self-referential closed loop that reduces awareness to specifically localized points of view. The ego works as a set of patterned functions that reduce what we see of the world. We conflate reality down to serviceable quanta which, in turn, are seen as a means to serve our perceived compensatory needs. These perceived needs are generated to compensate for feelings of lack or vulnerability. In other words, we see what we are conditioned to see and generate feelings that prompt reactions. We generally do this all without much investigation.
The antidote is to stop. Allow a gap. Breathe out. Drop into ourselves and feel ourselves in our body. That is much closer to reality than circular, ego world building. Just drop it. Come home, and be here. This act of self love will allow the elephant to rest. When the elephant rests we can look around and see the world as it is.
I once wrote an unlove song that went “people suck, and you’re one of them.” Yet life with the irritations of other humans may be worthwhile simply because we have no choice. It is an existential situation that we can either choose to see or turn away from. Sartre’s play was an existential glimpse of a human condition that left us with no alternative, hence the idea of hell. The Buddhists say the cycle of suffering, referred to as l samsara, is endless. And, yet the Buddha predicted that suffering can nonetheless cease if we understand its cause. Our experience of that endless sea of suffering is enacted by the clinging attachment to the straws of life we feel will save us from drowning. Instead of flowing though life with an open sense of discovery, we grasp to the things we love and struggle to get away from things we hate. And in the turbulence of yes and no, wanting and not wanting, we become blind to the rest of our life.
So, why do we suffer? We become comfortable with the familiar. Seeing what we see, knowing what we know, doing what we do supports our sense of security. As we are social creatures, we search out our clan and dance with the partners we enjoy. However, we can unknowingly become attached to what we know, and experience antipathy toward that de don’t. We assume our point of view is self-existing and inviolable. Humans nestle into comfort without looking into that or beyond themselves. Chogyam Trungpa likened this process to creating a cocoon. Cocoon, in this case, is a womb of repetitive patterns, societal norms and bounded thinking in which we find protection but entirely take for granted. We separate ourselves from the dangers of disparity by surrounding ourselves with the familiar. Each of us has our specific style of protective cocoon that makes us feel safe. Ironically, those who flaunt danger sometimes find solace in the familiarity of repetition of their unsafe behavior. A daredevil approach feels brave, but once we’ve learned how to navigate the danger, it becomes a pattern.
It is essential for the butterfly to struggle through its cocoon in order to develop the strength to fly. Likewise, it is essential for those on a wisdom journey, to work with the discomfort of waking up. The Tibetans refer to “lakthong” or clear seeing. Lakthong is seeing beyond our reference points and likened to “waking up. When faced with the discomfort of seeing more clearly, a common tactic is to find fault and assign blame. We can deflect the pain of our burgeoning awareness onto a projection of another object. However, this freezes us in place. Once we pinpoint a problem, then it becomes a scapegoat. We are no longer looking, because we are seeing what we believe. Smart people are very susceptible to irritation and blame. People of high intellect can often become impatient with those moving on slower cycles. It’s natural to value our world from the vantage of our own values. Sometimes this conflates into a rigid false binary. Some people are good and some are evil. Assigning a value of evil may be more about pushing away something you find uncomfortable than an absolute value scale.
At this writing we are heading toward a pivotal, some say existential, national election. The two primary presidential candidates have come under fire. One fending attacks against their age and mental acuity. The other, quite literally, in a narrowly missed assassination attempt. Both of these situations have caused us to stop and reconsider solid paradigmatic points of view.
Binaries are fictions we create to better understand chaos. There is a good, and there is a bad. We have right and we have wrong. We feel comfort in fending off chaos with these solid beliefs. All of us have something we feel is real. But clinging to those beliefs create suffering as readily as clinging to material things or other people. This is called materialism of view. We believe our ideas are real. Well, good luck with that. I’ve actually come to see that binaries are by their nature never real. They are crude designations, the first step in the mental triage in trying to address the unsettling unknowing of chaos. The remedy? Hahaha. Relax. We are struggling through a natural process of rebirth. There is no reason to struggle. Our disquiet is urging us to discomfort. Our discomfort tells the part of ourselves charged with being in control that we are under siege. And so we prove our mettle by digging in. We turn false binaries in rhetoric and rhetoric into violence. At this point, the chaos in our mind becomes chaos in our life.
As this brain grew, it gained the processing ability to go beyond the defensive reaction of its dark beginnings and, learning to see a bigger picture, strategize its way past danger and toward sustenance. This remarkable ascension is still happening and that’s a wonderful thing. Yet, that growth happened so quickly, our minds are developing new skills while our brain is still holding to old processes. This creates a dissonance between a view of what may be possible and what we fear could happen.