Category: Performances

Greetings on this bright and cold January morning.

It’s inaugural day in the US. Dharmajunkies will commemorate the occasion by remembering the lives and works of Doctor Martin Luther King. We also remember President Jimmy Carter. We honor their sacrifice, intelligence and compassion.

As well, we also remember the passing of David lynch the great auteur who was deeply dedicated to meditation. His children recommended that a perfect way to commemorate their father would be for the world to meditate today. So today we bring it back home to remembering those who have come before, our meditation practice, who we are, why we are here and what we can do to help bring love and sanity to our world.

Smrti in Sanskrit or Shi.ne’ in Tibetan can be transcribed as recollection. In meditation we are remembering to come back to the object of our meditation. Remembering to come back to the phrase or image in our contemplative meditation remembering to come back to the breath in Shamata or Zazen. On the deeper level it might be that we are remembering to come back to our essence. Different traditions look at our essence in different ways. It’s often referred to as being aligned with source. Or feeling source alive within us. The Buddhists refer to Buddha nature as an essential part of our being that is clear pure and undefiled. In the Shambhala tradition we talk about Basic Goodness, which both radiates from and evokes “True” confidence. True Confidence is not dependent upon material things, or social accomplishment but confidence that stems from a connection to our essential being. I’ve heard it referred to as a clear and pure running brook that we connect to within ourselves. Yet Basic Goodness, Buddha Nature, compassion and life are fundamental within the universe. Buddha Nature exists within and without us.

When we come back to the breath in meditation we are realigned with our fundamental being. Ideas of outer and inner, good or bad, right and wrong, seem crude in comparison to the experience of oneness or wholeness. That experience of personal unity with the universe, called nonduality in some traditions, is seen as our preternatural primordial state. It is who we are, will be and all we have ever been. The source of wisdom and compassion in the universe predated the existence of time or space itself and has been flowing ever since. The manifestation of the things of the universe are the displays of Buddha Nature. Every moment we are aligned with this, we are blessed. We are aligned with perfection. And everywhere around us are ways that that perfection is manifesting. Life is alive, and living in the trees, the brooks, the fields and also in the buildings, the cars and Elon’s rockets. We might decide that some of these things are more beneficial to our world than others, yet all of them are basically good because all of them are here and therefore deserving of out attention.   However, when we fall into forgetting we live a life selecting what we want to see, we trade the beauty of what is for a life of certainty. We trade a life of discovery, for a life where some things are everything we know. We grossly limit our spiritual and emotional potential. We are missing being at one with the universe and life itself because we are focused on the price of gas. Yet the price of gas is still basically good not because we think we it should be but because it is but because it is happening and because all things – whether we see them as good or bad or happy or sad – are subject to impermanence, change and reconfiguration. We are subject to impermanence, change and reconfiguration, whether we remember that or not. In fear, we live a life of narrow interpretations of reality. I suppose it serves the purpose of allowing a part of ourselves to feel in control. But the only way to effectively have control over life to reduce life down to a small enough space for us to control. Thus, most of  us are actively ignoring the 99.999% of everything else in the universe. Therefore, ego is ignorance from the Buddhist perspective.

Ego which can be seen as the very limited defensive nature of the mind, serves to reduce our world to a controllable space. Its logical extension is the propagation of surety, dogma and doctrine. The opposite of ignorance(ma-Rigpa) is knowing (Rigpa), and therefore, egoless being is sees and knows what is happening. And it always has. This is Buddha Nature – our natural state. Because it is accepting reality as it is, it is not at war. Thus, Buddha Nature is said to be indestructible. It has never changed. It is the life of the universe and the very life around us. And though our lives will pass into other configurations, our essential nature is said to be part of all of nature. Ego clings to temporal things in order for us to believe that temporary things give us solace and sustenance. We can squint our eyes and believe what we are happy but, inside us, we know that happiness is immaterial.  Material things are “like a banquet before the executioner leads us to our death.” Revenge, retribution, and displays of grandiosity masquerading as leadership are fleeting and meaningless. They are basically good, because they are there. But they are expressions of ego and ultimately fleeting.

Each time we return to the breath we come back from our preoccupations into the present, we are home. Sitting between hope and fear, between past and future, we find the middle way that encompasses all possibilities of the universe. Yet all we need to do is train the mind to recognize when it’s not present and develop the willingness to let go of fantasies and come back to what’s here. We don’t have to overstate that. It’s a very simple thing really. We’re just sitting. We’re just breathing. We’re a statue collecting snow in the monastery gardens. There is nothing to do, nothing to achieve, nothing to leave, nowhere to go, nothing to destroy. Only returning home when we stray. Remembering our basic nature, our ability to be present calm and accepting of ourselves and our world.

Revenge, retribution, and displays of grandiosity masquerading as leadership are fleeting and meaningless. They are happening. But they are the tiny grasping hands of ego and ultimately fleeting. What prevails is sanity, love, and service. When bluster and toxicity have dissipated, the love and service of Dr. King, Jimmy Carter and those many others who let their work speak for itself, still inspire and guide the life within our lives. That spirit of the universe is our source, the home we return to each time we remember.

TAKING MY FINGER OFF THE TRIGGER

How can we be less impacted by circumstances as we move through life? Friction in our friendships, difficulties at the office, contention between family members, are common clashes. As well, worry over an uncertain future and thoughts triggered from a wounded past provoke from within. We seem to have triggers everywhere. Some of these we may not be able to change. But we can change our relationship to any of them.

We make difficult circumstances more difficult when we allow the mind to go into adjacent worries, recrimination and judgment. For instance, there is drilling happening not far from my apartment. It’s annoying and incessant. I’m here having to work on a post about creating peace with this going on in the background. It becomes especially painful when the background becomes the foreground, as is happening now as I’m referring to it.  However in the course of writing, I’ll refocus on my work and forget the noise. This cessation of suffering comes and goes and yet the drilling is continuing unabated. Sometimes I’m aware and sometimes not.  Each time I’m aware of the drill I forget all about the periods of relative peace.  It seems this drilling has been going on my entire life and will continue forever.  I cannot help but take this personally.

If I cannot change a situation it falls in the category of pain. Pain is unavoidable in life. Yet any pain can become amplified when it’s cloaked in mental, physical or emotional struggle. This is suffering. And as is said, pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. The key is being able to accept pain and access the space to see how we can reduce the suffering. Oh, and not take it personally, of course.

Our lives would be so much lighter and more direct if we could accept our pain and move through it without complicating at every turn. So, sitting here with the drilling thinking ‘why did I move to this place?’ Or ‘maybe I should call city services’ is not only an unnecessary complication, it opens the door for further complication. ‘Of course, I can’t call city services, I’ll be on the phone for hours. And then no one will listen.’  The mind piles on more and more evidence that our life is tragic, and we are woefully misunderstood. All the while, I forget that I can just walk into another room. Sometimes I think I like to suffer and feel sorry for myself. Kind of like an auto Munchausen syndrome.

These complications create suffering and distract us from the present. “Distracted” means we are not paying attention. We might think we are present because we are bitching about it, but in reality, we are lost in mental cycles of suffering that have little, if anything, to do with what is happening. Unfortunately, not paying attention leaves us vulnerable. That vulnerability creates anxiety in the part of the mind charged with monitoring our self-defense. When triggered the body grips itself in a faux-protective tension that instigates feelings of unease. The mind tries desperately, to rectify this by  reiterating scenarios it hopes to control. As the mind is where we think we live, we believe these stories that are triggered by anxiety, memory and speculation. These narratives, with ourselves at the center, keep us enthralled and distanced from reality.

In Meditation, each time we recognize distraction we have the choice to create a gap in which we are able to come back to the present. This process extends to triggering situations in life. We can return to the body breathing – which is happening in the present. As we train the mind to leave its dream world behind, we begin to see that operating more closely to reality allows us to recognize and become familiar with the fears we always live with. We become able to work with things that frighten us, until they become workable.

However, as we step out of our cocoon, we still need protection.  But, we change our allegiance from fantasy to awareness. The further we awaken the more danger we perceive. As we step from the cocoon the world is more vibrant because we are leaving a sensually dampened state and stepping into clarity. The world is more vibrant, but that means sirens are louder, people more irritating, and danger more apparent. It is said that irritation is the vanguard of awareness.  Sometimes, we retreat. Yes. But our work is to notice when we are closing down, and to encourage ourselves toward opening when we are able, as we can.

So, how do we step from our cocoon and remain confident as we do so?

Rather than the faux protection of our panicked thinking, Meditation practice allows us to create a gap between input and impulse, which serves as a  mote or buffer of aware space. Whether we are triggered by someone else, or drilling outside the window, all instigating impulses happen in our mind. When the mind builds it cocoon it compounds itself into a hall of mirrors. Turning the attention from this brain constipation toward the aerobic movement of breathing interrupts the process and allows the claustrophobia to abate. When we turn our attention from the overwhelmed brain to the body breathing, we go return to something grounding. And while simple awareness of the breath may seem inadequate to address how impacted we feel, it actually creates a gap that allows the mind more clarity to see clearly.

So how do we work with our thinking? Buddhists believe that our every thought travels the same cyclic journey as as does our life. Each life travels the same cycle as every epoch in history, or any structure in society, every fad and trend. Everything that happens is born in darkness and matures through a process that flowers into consciousness and fades eventually into entropy, death and reconfiguration. At death, a momentum remains to shape the next reconfiguration. Born in darkness, these cycles remain unknown to themselves, unless something interrupts the pattern.

In meditation practice we begin to see aspects of these cycles in our mind. With practice, we actually learn to interrupt the cycle and allow awareness.  The most reliable point of interrupting the cycle happens as a feeling arises.  This is a red flag, of sorts. Our feeling might be pleasurable, neutral or painful.  We generally don’t pay attention to our feelings and move past them toward the next stages in the cycle, craving and grasping. Craving can be wanting something we want, but it can also be yearning for relief from situations we don’t want. The next stage, grasping is when we take hold and make a meal of it. When experiencing painful situations, we naturally crave relief and cling to a struggle that sometimes expands our pain into suffering. If we are not aware, we become lost in a fantasy cocoon fueled by feelings of victimization and retribution.

The interruption point comes as we become conscious of the cycle.  The more we meditate, the more we are familiar with the mind, the sooner we are able to impose a gap of awareness. The most reliable entry point lies between craving (wanting things to change) and grasping (beginning to struggle.)

In simple language, when we notice something unpleasant that has the capacity to engulf us into a cycle of suffering, we can interrupt the process before we take anything personally. We can pick up the laptop and go into another room. If we cannot change the circumstances, we can change our relationship to it. And the best remedy, I have found, is to create internal mental space as a buffer. When we recognize we are in pain, we can interrupt the mind cycle by releasing our grasping and letting go, return to the breath. We are moving from struggling with things we cannot change, toward what we can, our breath. We can slow down and disengage.

By relaxing the nervous system our mind becomes clear and from the vantage of aware space, the situation may reveal itself as entirely workable.

Landing Back to Earth

Walking the emotional gauntlet of the holiday season is challenging. The holidays are often described as loving and warm, but it can also feel cold and threatening.

Incidents of familial violence and self-harm spike during this time.  Perhaps we try hard to please those we love. Maybe we get caught up in competition over how much we can give. Or perhaps we feel anxious about our financial security and our ability to be generous and offer ourselves to others. Maybe we fall into the trap of need, looking with avarice at all the shining bobbles. Even when we have much for which to feel grateful, sometimes home is where the hurt is.

What does it mean to come home for the holidays when we don’t feel safe at home at any time. And maybe if we don’t feel safe at home, we never feel safe anywhere.  What does it mean to offer kindness and love to others when we don’t feel those things for ourselves? We often create more hardship by failing to include ourselves in the love we want to extend. How I feel about myself is no one’s fault. It is, however, my responsibility. How I feel about myself reflects how I feel about the life I live, the world I inhabit, the home I create and the love I extend to others.

Traditional Buddhism teaches about 6 realms of existence from hell to God realms. Yet, the human realm is said to be the most rewarding and the most challenging as humans have the ability to achieve and realize so much and yet that very possibility gives us a sense of unease, expectation, and demand.  because we see the possibility, we believe our lives should be bigger, grander, and better. Buddha suggested that the root of our suffering lies in non-acceptance of what our life actually is. And acceptance of our life begins with acceptance of ourselves.

It is not selfish to care for ourselves, especially when this enables us to care for others. Yet, caring for ourselves is not mindlessly grasping for everything we think we want. Because the more we want, the more we need. It’s as though the universe only understands verbs. We pray, “I want this” and “I want that”, but the universe only hears “want, want, want.” So, it sends us more wanting. And the more we want, the less we feel we have. As we cling to the ephemeral, we end up judging life by what we don’t have.

Yet, despite whatever it is we want today, humans need peace, comfort, and kindness everyday. This sustenance may be closer than we realize. But it cannot be realized through grasping, competition, coveting or creating internal pressure around what we think others think. Those ploys only leave us bereft. If I believe that I am worthless—or less worthy than anyone else—then what value can I offer to others? I can only offer my need. “You didn’t call me back”, “you didn’t get my joke”, “You don’t get me.” , “Goddamnit, does anyone get me?” No one gets anyone as their too busy trying to get for themselves. No one wants to prop us up indefinitely. While some may be willing to try, no one is comfortable with the feeling of indebtedness that comes from holding us together. And it does us no good.

But maybe we can find a way to hold ourselves together.

This holiday season, instead of looking to external sources to fill our needs, perhaps we could begin by turning inward.  My mother, after being divorced by my father, lived a very modest life. She often lived with others in places that were never truly her own. At one point, we were roommates in a beautiful little home on a river in Colorado, but it was never truly hers. Eventually, she found a humble home behind the most popular bar in town, where drunks stumbled around at night to the sounds of country blues and fist fights.

Despite this, she made that small place her home, furnishing it with second-hand furniture and Walmart discount items. Her heart, her acceptance of others, and her warmth filled that little home. Anyone was welcome. And I dragged some characters through. People would visit—many of whom had greater means than she — and would leave feeling enriched. Even when space was tight, she would welcome everyone, “As long as there’s floor space.” At times, the house was so crowded with animals, guests, and family that it was hard to find that floor space. Yet, no matter how uncomfortable everyone felt comfortable.  Over the years, people kept coming back to her home because they felt the love.

Certainly, there have been grander expressions of love throughout history: Helen of Troy, whose face launched a thousand ships; Poe’s dark yearning for his Annabel Lee; F. Scott’s stumbling drunken pursuit of Zelda. Juliette and her Romeo. But sometimes, it’s the quiet moments of affection—a drooling cat kneading biscuits on your chest—that are the most healing. But, it’s not the cat that heals us. It is the power of our affection and connection to our heart. That is how we create a home no matter where we are. It’s not the cat’s responsibility; it’s ours. We have the power to heal ourselves through kindness and affection. Then we can welcome others.

When the Buddha attained enlightenment his profound sense of peace drew others to him. After years of searching and training, the Buddha finally sat down, exhausted, and gave up all concepts, all material desires, and all yearning. When everything settled, he connected to the earth and found profound enlightenment. His contentment was radiant and animals and people alike were drawn to his peace. When asked who he was, he simply replied, “I am awake.” A skeptic asked how he could prove this.  Buddha simply touched the earth.  “The earth is my witness, ” he said.

In this moment, right here and now, we can be at home. In this moment, right here and now, we can welcome our world. In this very moment, we can drop the anxiety of wanting more and find peace in who we are.

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Gaining Mastery Over Our Suffering: the Courage to Face Our Pain

I would like to address rising up and facing our pain as a way of navigating a life of turmoil and challenge. This is not to over dramatize life’s difficulties or to define ourselves by pain. Rather, by facing what is truly happening, we can minimize the suffering in order to work with the pain.

Therefore, distinguishing pain from suffering is key. It is said that pain is inevitable, while suffering is optional. Pain may accompany growth or even be necessary for it. Working through pain brings physical strength and emotional maturity. However, our interpretation of pain often complicates our view and tension amplifies it into suffering. We take pain personally, becoming entangled in hypotheticals, judgment, and resentment. Instead of meeting pain, as it is, in order to work with it, we struggle against it, giving it power over us. This creates great Suffering. Yet, since suffering is optional, it can be addressed and reduced.

The point isn’t to get rid of the pain. The point is to reduce the suffering we create, so we can address the pain. As we age, when our back hurts its natural and not aimed at us personally. Yet thoughts of how we hate aging, fears of what might come or how we might need to change what is happening and how the government might be implicated in any of it are not helpful. I have found that when I experience back pain, I reflexively curl away from it contorting my body into an unhealthy shape. This supports the disability and promotes a mindset of suffering. Instead of running away from the pain, I’ve learned to lean in to it remembering to breathe and gently ease up past the pain, into my best posture. This is not about pushing into the pain in damaging and dangerous ways. It’s about feeling into it and gently moving past it to a posture of authority. This actually helps diminish the pain and release the suffering we create because of it.  I have found that gentle persistence toward regaining somatic authority is possible. I don’t have to be owned by my pain. I can learn to live with it, and even learn from it.  And in this way, I can limit the suffering I create in frustration of the inevitable. Frustration is an easy out when we’re in pain, but it is not helpful to healing. Kindness, ease and awareness are essential for us to support ourselves.

But this talk is not about back pain. This talk is also about our mental and emotional health and how with meditation we are retraining the mind away from reflexive reactions so we have a way of working with pain that allows us to gain mastery over suffering. The title of this talk is “Sit Down and Rise Up.” Or, maybe “Rise Up and Sit Down” depending on its whim. By sitting down and connecting to the earth, we ground ourselves in the present. With practice, we grow comfortable with our own presence and begin to connect to our innate dignity, confidence, and well-being. Rising up in a gently uplifted posture lengthens the spine, creating space for tension to release and openness to dawn. With practice we become confident with openness. Openness, in turn, engenders more confidence in not just our spirit, but our body. With practice we become familiar with the warrior’s seat, and are able to return to it.

Our body and mind are sometimes in cahoots with suffering. The mind might attach to a darkness and the body might tighten in reaction. For instance, defensiveness often triggers a somatic constriction, arrogance has its puffed up posture, and depression is a collapse of body and mind. These physical and mental reactions to fear happen so quickly they feel inevitable. We assume it’s natural to collapse when sad, shiver when cold, or tense up when threatened. But these responses do not protect us, in fact they often amplify the pain, or support the disfunction causing it. Ironically, the tension we instinctively adopt when we feel threatened is entirely counterproductive. Tension reduces the body’s ability to respond and it clouds the mind. No martial arts teacher trains students to be tense, frightened, or defensive. Instead, they are trained to be relaxed and open, ready to respond to what is happening. In life, what is happening is not always what we think. The only reliable defense to an unpredictable world is to pay attention. And paying attention requires relaxation and confidence.

Training the mind to pause when threatened and turn its attention to the body allows us awareness in the present. And, if a threat is real, awareness is our best defence. Therefor the base point of this journey is a relaxed body, open heart, and clear mind. With meditation practice, we repeatedly return to this base point with the breath, teaching our body, emotions, and mind to learn to return to our base point in real-life situations. This posture becomes our command position, where we see more clearly and face challenges with calm strength.

Seeing clearly requires moving beyond judgment-based biases, which are often projections of past wounds. Judgment is a reflexive defense that distances us from the present, limiting clarity and effective action. Instead, we synchronize the mind with the body, breathing through fear until we can assess the situation clearly. Assessment, unlike judgment, is simple and self-reflective. It acknowledges fear without blame and responds thoughtfully.

This principle is critical for martial artists, who remain present and open rather than reactive. In contrast, action movies often glorify revenge or hatred as motivation, creating a satisfying but false narrative. Real strength lies in remaining open and responsive, not closed off by anger or fear.

For example, Muhammad Ali trained himself to relax and release tension when struck by an opponent, by famously using the “rope-a-dope” strategy. By leaning back on the ropes, dancing and smiling, not only replenished his energy, but seriously disheartened his opponents. When balanced, he faced the moment rather than retreating, demonstrating mastery over both his body and mind.

Rising up to meet the moment—rather than defeating or escaping it—is a better way to defend ourselves and face life’s challenges. This openness, practiced over time, resonates with even the most fearful parts of our minds. Meeting obstacles with awareness, we align the body, mind, and spirit to face the outer and inner challenges of life. Even adopting an upright posture for two minutes can produce confidence-enhancing hormones, reinforcing our sense of agency over a situation.

Once we learn to rise to pain, we no longer allow fear, anger, or pain to cower us. This reduces suffering, confusion, and mental conflict. It’s as though we rise up and shake off the baggage we once thought was protecting us. Sitting down to rise up is the warrior’s proclamation—a way to cultivate gentleness toward ourselves, which translates into effectiveness in the world.

Living fearlessly does not mean living without fear. True fearlessness is the ability to look at fear and see it as an ally.

The Heartbreak Clash

Lord Gampopa, a seminal figure in Tibetan Buddhism, taught that we are the “working basis” of our liberation. In other words, who we are—our body, mind, spirit, work, life, and relationships—holds all the information we need for our freedom. We don’t have to look beyond ourselves. The key is to look beneath the surface turmoil and learn from what’s right in front of us. This requires taking things less personally and seeing the path as a practical, step-by-step process, not some distant cosmic reach. Maybe the cosmic is right here, right now.

On the flip side, sometimes we place so much pressure on the present moment that we take it too personally, making things harder for ourselves and others. The present is just a blip in our flow—we meet the moment and move on. But when we hit a snag, it can occupy much more of our time and energy than is helpful. If we could retrain our minds to notice and let go, we might see difficulties as opportunities to learn who we are and how we behave, freeing ourselves from the habitual patterns that keep us stuck.

The cocoon we build around ourselves is meant to protect us, and we cling to it tightly. We begin to believe that this reductive state is who we are, and proclaim, “No one knows me,” as we search for someone who will “get” us. But do we even understand ourselves? Maybe the person we think is misunderstanding us could reveal something new about who we are.

Conflict often arises when we cling to our defenses. This is not to say defenses are inherently wrong or unhelpful, but when we identify with them, we mistake them for ourselves. Since defenses are only partial aspects of who we are, identifying with them limits our lives. Over time, we start feeling claustrophobic and dissatisfied, wanting to break free of those limiting beliefs. The easy way out is to blame others: “This is toxic, I have to leave!” But that often leads to the next entanglement, where we replay old traumas. The goal of the Buddhist path is to help us see beyond these patterns, gently recognizing them as limitations.

Each time we notice the mind clinging, grasping, or fixating, and acknowledge it, we can let go and return to clarity. This is what meditators call “coming back.” Each time we return, we crack open the cocoon, letting more sunlight in. With practice, we can rest in a state of unclouded clarity, which becomes our foundation. From there, we step into new possibilities, rather than merely repeating the past. When we react out of fear or anxiety, we can only do what we’ve done before. How many times in relationships have we said, “Let’s make a fresh start,” only to end up repeating the same cycle? Without returning to zero, to openness, our next move isn’t truly creative. Acting out of pain or anxiety only reinforces past injuries, carrying them with us into every new situation.

I once dated an astrologer who, after reading our charts, told me we had a rare but perfect astrological conflict called the “heartbreak clash.” It seemed insurmountable, and everything we read suggested it was impossible to overcome. But along with the clash came an undeniable attraction. We felt drawn to the conflict, as if we had to overcome it. “I always go for damaged angels” or “every partner I choose is the wrong one”—maybe we’re all damaged angels, and there’s no such thing as a “wrong” partner. Maybe there are only partners who push the right buttons to unlock parts of us.

I went to another astrologer, a Vajrayana Buddhist practitioner, who, after looking at our chart, said, “Classical astrologers would tell you to get out. But my teacher, Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, would smile and say, ‘I don’t see a problem.'” He beamed at me and continued, “It’s our vow as Vajrayana practitioners to transmute the difficulties in our lives and find the wisdom at their core. This situation is perfect for that.”

Opening to these deep wounds can release enormous energy. We instinctively shy away from this because we don’t want to face what lies beneath. Trauma isn’t just painful; it’s the avoidance of that pain that prolongs it. We cover our wounds, hiding them from the light, and they fester. We flinch at the thought of touching those wounds, carrying them around without acknowledging them. The heartbreak clash offers an opportunity to unlock that puzzle. Imagine stepping through the iron cocoon of your defenses, even if only occasionally, and seeing things in a fresh light. That is love. And love isn’t separate from pain; it exists alongside it. Our focus is the choice we make.

However, love brings our past traumas into the present. At work, in public, or on the street, we can keep our wounds hidden, pretending to be okay. But what does “okay” really mean? Okay according to others’ standards? Or according to what we think others expect of us? And what does “starting over” mean if we haven’t learned the lessons of our past?

Once we cross into love, it opens a whole new dimension. It’s like a friendship evolving into something deeper. As soon as we do, we give the other person access to those dangerous, hidden places we’ve tried to protect. This makes relationships both challenging and invaluable.

But the other person isn’t directly touching our wounds; they’re triggering the defenses we’ve placed around them. More importantly, we’re not seeing our wounds; we’re seeing them through the lens of our defenses. The easy way out is to blame—to fixate on the other person, diverting attention from ourselves. This blocks our ability to learn. Another shortcut is judgment: believing the other person is wrong by some standard. But what does that really mean? By whose standards? Humans notoriously adjust ethical scales to serve their own self-interest. We can quote the Bible, the Buddha, or any law book to justify our point, but all we’re really doing is hiding our fear of what lies beneath.

Erich Fromm, the philosopher and therapist, said that true love occurs when two people are ready for the same thing. Maybe every love teaches us something different about ourselves, until we finally find someone else. Perhaps we failed to see those opportunities because we were focused on the flaws of others. But ultimately, we are the only ones we can change. And we’re often the last ones we want to see. It takes time to be ready to see ourselves. Yet, looking inward is the only way to be truly honest—and honesty is what frees us from our defenses, step by step.

This is the essence of transformation in Vajrayana Buddhism: the power to break free from the chains of our fear, burning them away in the fire of our passion.

Which Way to Go Depends on Where I’m Going

In the past, the inflection points my life have been poorly considered. These junctures were opportunities to directly engage my life, and perhaps steer it into a fruitful direction. However, driven by the anxiety and pressure I always lived under, I’d jump past these moments trying to reach some supposed, imposed goal, usually landing in a new version of the same mess. This pattern defied my ADHD.  My patterns of disability have stayed with me longer than most of my jobs and all of my loves.

As I began to study mindfulness training, it became clear that before stepping into a decision point I needed to know where I was, and where I was heading. Mindfulness of where I am was a process of seeing the self-imposed limitations that held me chained to patterns of habit. But what if I was to set those aside? Once free of my cage, where would I go? That’s a sobering thought. Perhaps that is why we stay stuck where we are, or in my case lurch forward out of – and then into – the same old mud.

I think of the story of bluesman Robert Johnson at the Mississippi crossroads, where, as the legend goes, he sold his soul to the devil to be the greatest blues guitarist. His choice, though fateful, shaped a musical legacy that still resonates today. In life, our crossroads, or decision points, feel binary—right or wrong, good or bad, as though we were “caught in the devil’s bargain” as Joni Mitchell famously wrote. I think it’s a way of spiritual self soothing to place ourselves between absolute good and absolute evil. Then we know where we are. But for many of us much of the time, one way feels more appealing than the other and so we are locked in turmoil on our dirt road.

Robert Johnson stood at the crossroad and made a choice to sell his soul to the devil. And the world begat more soul because of it. Did he lose his soul simply because he followed his passion? This split screen right or wrong may be helpful to controlling agents such as political movements, or churches in league with the state, but for me it is not an effective way to make a mindful decision. The Buddhist perspective of the middle path rests within the binary, seeing decision points as nuanced and provisional. Sometimes a left turn is the right choice, other times the opposite direction is appropriate. Pausing to reevaluate may be necessary no matter our pressure to decide. Yet, before I know which way to turn, it seems important to know where I’m going.

So, despite decisions being dependent on the moment, they hold meaning when they’re guided by principles larger than the moment. Where am I and where am I heading? These questions are the foundation of a mindful path. A mindful path is a wisdom path, despite what we may call it. Am I heading toward greater understanding of my mind my world?

This guiding principle is deeply personal. As a Buddhist I orient myself toward the two-step process foundational to Buddhism. First, the path of personal liberation is working on myself so that I can see more clearly and be less reactive. While I may never fully escape my inner struggles, the journey to transform them is what empowers me and allows me to open my heart to others. The second stage is that I open my process toward benefiting others. Bringing these together, my aspiration is to understand myself, so that I can understand others and be a benefit to my world. Aspiring to benefit others actually reduces the pressure I feel as it creates more room for me. I don’t have to do it on my own, but I can play my part for the benefit of others. So, at each juncture I might ask, is this good for me? And will it help me connect to my world? If I become an amazing blues guitarist along the way, so much the better.

Ultimately, responsibility is mine. No matter how difficult life gets, I am accountable for my actions and for the wounds that shape those actions. While life is greater than me, it is still my responsibility to steer my own ship. I remind myself: what others think is not my business. If something unsettles me, it’s likely pointing to a vulnerability within myself. In any altercation, I can avoid blame and see what it is I can change. All I can change with any certainty is myself. So, why does this hurt? What is it in me that is laying myself open for disappointment? Am I asking too much from someone? Am I expecting someone to fix my life? Those approaches don’t help me. Looking into my heart and seeing how my wounds are shaping me allows me to see how others are similarly trauma shaped. And then rather than demanding from my life, I can actually give back. And for me, that is the greatest feeling.

At every crossroads, the way forward becomes clearer when we are guided by an understanding of where we are going. So, at each juncture I can pause and ask Is the benefitting me? AND is it benefit to my world?

If I choose to help someone who is hurting me, I may be limiting my ability to be a functional and helpful member of my society. If I help only myself, the pressure is all on me. And I find limited joy in always thinking of myself. My life is too small and so there is never enough. Me-me-me needs more-more-more.

Making choices that lead to benefiting myself and my world is a sustainable principle to help me forward. I don’t have to get there, or anywhere in particular. I just need the willingness to eyes open as I let go.

Would Life Be Easier Without Remembering?

Memory is an essential component of how we identify with our lives. Without it, we would lose much of our personal identity and our capacity to navigate the world effectively. Memory is also critical in our development as humans, particularly in forming mental strategies for protection. As we evolved, we traded physical defenses—fangs, venom, scales, and talons—for enhanced cognitive abilities, including an increased capacity for memory.

This enhancement of memory served our defensive systems well, allowing us to predict future events based on past experience. Early mammals developed the ability to remember dangerous or painful situations in order to avoid them in the future. Humans evolved to build on this by not only remembering danger but also transferring knowledge from one situation to another, improving our ability to evade risks.

Memory, therefore, serves an important survival purpose. Yet, it also encumbers and complicates our moment-to-moment perception of reality. Much of what various meditative disciplines seek to achieve is clarity of mind—the idea of direct perception or a non-dual experience where there is no separation between the perceiver and the perceived.

In a dualistic experience, we are distanced from direct perception. Our minds filter everything we see, hear, feel, taste, touch and think —through the lens of memory. This process involves not only concepts of belief but also adjacent ideas and internal impulses that may have little relevance to the actual experience. Memory is an imperfect and shambolic system, that often clouds our clarity of mind.

If we could jettison memory, we might achieve a more direct perception of reality and a state of greater clarity. However, this would also mean losing the sophisticated context that helps us understand what we are perceiving. This raises an important question: How can we retain the useful aspects of memory without allowing it to weigh us down and dull our perceptions?

While some aspects of memory enhance perception, they can also lead to mental complication, keeping us weighted down.

Emotional Attachment and Memory

Emotional attachment to memory, in particular, often leads to confusion in our perception. Memory, while useful for survival and learning, can also project us into the future, often in negative ways. Many of us overuse the ability to foresee future outcomes, living in states of paranoia and expecting the worst in any situation. Being stuck in either the past or the future keeps us from effectively connecting to the present moment.

But what would life be like without emotional attachment to memory? Many cultural narratives emphasize memory—advertisements encourage us to live our lives “creating memories,” as though memories were material commodities. But is this really how we want to live? Using our present experiences merely as fodder for future recollection robs us of both the present and the future. We sit idly, turning the pages of memory, rather than engaging with life as it unfolds.

Meditation and the Importance of Recognition

In meditation practice, recognizing our distraction is of utmost importance. It is unnecessary to berate ourselves for not being present. When we are distracted, we are given the opportunity to recognize that and return to the present moment. This process develops two essential functions of the mind: the ability to recognize an event and the strength to let go of attachment to it, thus returning to the present.

These two seemingly subtle aspects of meditation—recognition and letting go—can transform our lives by distancing us from the emotional baggage attached to past experiences. For example, when you see a rose, you might first recognize its beauty. If it has emotional resonance based on past experience, you might notice that as well. But returning to the present moment without attaching undue significance to the rose because of the past keeps your mind clear and balanced.

Consider a child bitten by a white dog. As the child grows older, they may retain an irrational fear of white dogs, which might even extend to other animals, like white cats or other dogs. The trauma attaches itself to the body, and the memory of that experience continues to cloud perception. While this process is a sophisticated mental development, it is not always helpful.

The key is recognition: recognizing the fear, recognizing the white dog, recognizing the potential irrationality of the fear, and then letting go. Each step brings us closer to direct perception—closer to what is actually happening now, free from the distorting influence of past trauma.

Loosening Emotional Attachment

For meditators, difficult choices must be made. We must ask ourselves whether we are truly living in the present moment or if we are stuck in a cocoon of past experiences that cloud our perception and unconsciously motivate our actions. While emotional connection to life is important, it is equally important to let go of the attachments that pull us away from the present moment.

No matter how beautiful or profound a moment is, our experience of life is temporary. Loosening our attachment is essential. One way to do this is to reduce our tendency to assign significance to everything. For instance, we may adopt beliefs such as “this is God’s plan” or “this must mean something important,” adding layers of meaning where they may not be necessary.

I recall once being nervous for an audition and, in a state of fear, finding a feather on the ground. I kept the feather and subsequently passed the audition. Afterward, I began seeing feathers before other important moments, believing they were signs of good luck. However, a friend eventually pointed out that they were pigeon feathers, common all over the sidewalks of New York. In my panic, I had ascribed significance to something entirely mundane.

By loosening this need for meaning, we can move through life with greater clarity and freedom. We no longer need to grasp for confirmation of our significance in the world. Instead, we gain confidence by recognizing and letting go, allowing us to connect with the present moment fully.

In this way, meditation helps develop a lightness and clarity in our perception and, consequently, in our lives.