Category: Performances

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.

I would like to introduce the community council. The idea behind this gathering is to create a mindful approach to communication in our lives and within our community. This will also allow awareness of ourselves, which enables progress on our path.

The Power of a Dharma Community: One of the remarkable things about a Dharma community, which is a mindful and intentional community, is that our everyday actions can be guided by our mindfulness practice. In turn, our mindfulness practice deepens when applied to our daily lives.

The Role of Communication: Communication is a fundamental aspect of everyday life. It’s the bridge to understanding each other. However, poor communication often creates barriers rather than bridges. While boundaries are necessary to maintain clarity and focus, they need not be barriers to communication. If the true purpose is communication, then understanding one another is our purpose. It is important to mentally restate that intention at the outset, as well as remind ourselves throughout.

Communication is not a speech, it is a dual process of speaking and listening.

Intentions Shape Communication: Our intentions set the tone for communication. If our goal is to belittle or attack, we close off the possibility of true dialogue. Effective communication is not about winning or dominating; it’s about reaching out to another’s heart and engaging with their basic human dignity. By doing so, we create the highest potential for a meaningful exchange. When we attack, we are forced to deal with the worst in another. When we treat the other with dignity, we are working with their best.

So, what is your intention? Is it to force another into your corner? Or, is it to open to a changeable creative exchange? Which of these possibilities teaches us more about ourselves and each other?

Openness in Communication: Openness is the second key aspect of communication. It implies changeability and creativity. True openness means allowing space for reflection, listening to our own words, and genuinely hearing the other person without judgment or interruption. It’s about giving others the authority to speak their truth without needing our approval.

The Council’s Purpose: The purpose of our community council is not to force conformity but to create a space where everyone feels they are heard. In moments of disagreement, it’s vital to retain our openness and respond thoughtfully, without aggression or coercion. Speaking from a place of truth allows us to communicate effectively, even when our views differ.

The Role of Council Members: As council members, we are entrusted with holding this space. We must empower ourselves and others to engage in mindful, open, and compassionate communication. Even when we’re triggered or uncomfortable, it’s important to stay grounded, remember our role, and guide newer members toward less aggressive communication.

Conclusion: In summary, open communication involves three key points:

1. Boundaries: Holding to our own truth without attacking others.
2. Openness: Speaking clearly and listening genuinely.
3. Empowerment: Holding our seat with confidence and guiding others toward mindful communication.

When we are empowered  with confidence, we are cognizant of our own dignity, and not obligated to anyone’s approval.  Then we can hold the space to allow a flow of ideas, some supporting and some challenging. Yet, if we hold our set and hold space we can enact out intention to create a community where everyone feels heard, respected, and valued.

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Today’s photo evokes the romance of the school dance. An oft used descriptor of that moment would be “innocence” although, events later in the parking lot might not be very innocent. Yet, we wistfully remember clumsily fumbling around another person in the dark because whether it was glorious, frightening or both, opening the heart was a powerful moment for us.

I sadly never got out of my head long enough to let my heart into the equation but maybe it happened at some point.  It wasn’t until years later when meditation gave me the courage to allow vulnerability. But, whether it was groping on a high school dance floor, fumbling in the back seat, or sitting on the meditation cushion, the moment of frailty when we “fall” is an important step in our spiritual journey.

Falling in love sounds lovely, but falling can be a frightening experience. As it is scary to have our defenses pulled away, it is nonetheless very powerful when we allow ourselves to open.

The Tibetan Buddhist systems speak of “transmission”, which is a nonlinear communication that happens to us, despite whatever it is we are trying to do. Transmission is a seemingly instantaneous joining of our body, mind and heart. This happens when a realized teacher performs a ceremony, when we are in a car accident, and sometimes when we fall in love. Our body is responding, our heart is opening and our mind is clear. We are not trying to do anything anymore than a diver tries to dive, or a painter tries to create a masterpiece. Michelangelo famously said that he could not take credit for sculpting his statue of David. He said he simply removed all the rock that wasn’t David. He removed the obstacles and the truth was revealed.

Of course, there is a lot of trying involved in developing a skill. But the magic happens when we let go and let the transmission take place. The actual transmission of David was Michelangelo’s connection to the universe, not a triumph of his will. Our spiritual path is like this. Most of the time, we apply ourselves to hard work. But every now and then we lift our gaze and everything opens. We can learn, but realization comes from a surrendering of learning. Itis a surrendering of will. We fall. As in love, we might strategize our courtship. But when we actually fall, the world opens up and strategies are useless. We become lost in the music of life.

I was grew up in a tenement in New Jersey. My dad worked days and went to school nights, my mom worked in the city, but we would gather around the TV when we could like our forebears gathering around the hearth, or the fire. As with them, the TV allowed us to share  sadness, happiness and laughter with our world. I still remember the extraordinary moment on the Ed Sullivan show that swept us away from the tension of our life and brought joy and love through those small rooms. After that transmission, my mom would gather brooms and mops from the closet for us to use as guitars. My mother, brother, and I sister would sing along to our first two Beatle songs, “She Loves You” and “I’ll get you.”. We went to church every Sunday in those days. A banner above my grandfather’s pulpit read “God Is Love”. We were an evangelical Pentecostal community and I had witnessed the Holy Spirit entering members of the congregation in a transmission of the power of the love of God. Speaking in tongues, ecstatic dance, and shaking are moments when body, spirit and mind become one. For me, it was standing in front of the mirror with my broom guitar jumping up and down. This presupposed Lennon’s infamous declaration that the Beatles were more important to my generation than God.  And to this day, I can be lost in the pure joy of a pop song in a way that short circuits my doubtful, sarcastic mind, and gives me the confidence to fall in love.

Ecstatic moments join body, spirit and mind into a moment far greater than all the concepts or ideas that lead us to it. No one could have guessed that the power of love might take hold of the world from four boys who initially were just trying to impress girls. But it was the ecstatic explosion of the audience, drowning out even their own voices, that propelled us to see the world more fully than we ever had. With all the military might and bluster of the men who ruled society, the power of teenage girls to bring the world to its knees went completely overlooked. Yet, this has been an undercurrent throughout history. Helen, as Marlowe said, had a “face that launched a thousand ships”, Shakespeare’s Juliet, Garbo, Monroe, Cleopatra, Nefertiti and the iconic images of Quan Yin, Lilith and Tara all represent the disruptive and transformative power of love. In Vajrayana Buddhism there is a deity called Vajrayogini who is depicted as a teenage woman in the full prime of her youth. For many, she is a primary Tantric goddess of the “Dakini” class. Dakinis, or “sky dancers”,  are depicted as young women unbound by temporal constraints The Dakini affects great change. She represents the transformative power of Love. You can study her liturgies, but it’s only through direct contact and a willingness to surrender to her flames that our transformation occurs,

While we can analyze platonic love, study spiritual love and try our best to bring about love on Earth, we cannot try to understand the transformative power of romantic/disruptive love. We can only experience it. And that experience can only happen when we are willing to let down our defences and surrender to the darked arms of the Goddess’ death embrace. As it says in the prayer of St Francis “it is by dying that one receives eternal life.” To Buddhists this refers to “ego-death” which is an essential step to liberation.  Yet death of the ego feels like death itself. Like the “little death” of an orgasm, we cannot receive this transmission by trying. As the great master Yoda said, “Try not. Do or do not. There is no try.”

What if humans evolve to the point of surrender? What if we stop trying to fix, change and control and allow ourselves, instead, to discover? There is a school of thought that says past, present and future are just a construct and all events have already happened. Another school of thought suggests that until we can conceive a thing we cannot see it. And yet, it is only by releasing the concept that we can touch it. If everything we think will happen has already happened, then all we need to do is be open to the possibility. And believe. And then let go and receive.

What if instead of paying endless lip service to love, we just deeply kiss the world? What if our politics and our nations were organized around faith in the power of love? I guess the process is to conceive it and then believe it and then let that go and simply be it. Thich Nhat Hanh said, “BE love.” Believe it and be it.

What if we stop over valuing destruction and might  and began to organize ourselves around a politics of love?

Imagine.

If you look closely at the picture above you’ll see a band playing for 18 people. They would not have guessed that in a short time they would change the world.

They were probably just hoping to meet girls.

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Seeing Beyond Our Pain

We are the product of love. Even if our life sometimes seems separated from love, the act of love happened someplace. Love is everywhere around us whether or not we are able to contact it.

Contacting love in our life is possible if we are free of the turmoil that often occupies our mind. Sometimes this happens accidentally, as when something startles us and stops our mind.  Sometimes it happens when our mind naturally notices a flower or bird that opens our mind. Then we are left with open space and are able to see beyond the usual static. Although love is necessary to life, it can  also be startling and amazing. As a thought experiment, imagine momentarily removing all the aggression and contention from mind. Without the filter we would see evidence of love and kindness everywhere. Grass growing, bees humming, the wind caressing our face. Love is everywhere and not just in rom-coms.

Romantic love instigates hormonal changes to our system that sometimes allow usus feel all is right with the world. This is not only because of that special someone. It is because our mind opened and allowed us a glimpse of its essential heart. Love may be the essential heart of the universe. Everything that exists can be seen as an expression of love. But as necessary to the universe as love is, it is accompanied by destruction. When I have fallen in love, the feeling is always accompanied by fear and sadness. Perhaps I am frightened by a lack of control as I feel swept away, or saddened by the loss of love I anticipate or have experienced. What seems most real to me is that falling in love connects me to the deepest parts of life. All of these feelings are natural to humans. All of the circumstances that provoke these feelings are natural to the universe. When I see a rabbit in the grass my mind always stops and I spontaneously feel love and joy. But that rabbit so happily eating its flowers, will hop into the shadows and into a sad and painful death. But the rabbit continues eating. It is  as aware of potential danger around it as its evolutionary state allows, but it is not interrupting its meal.  On the other hand, I have indigestion because of a meeting I have later in the day.

Compassion is natural to all life. But so is danger. Much of life does what it can to sustain itself and focuses its cellular attention on living, growing and providing, serene in its unknowing. Most life is a natural and necessary part of the dance of the planet. But, the greatest danger to the balance of life comes from the only part of the planet that sees itself. The one who’s acidic stomach is gurgling as it watches the rabbit hop merrily into the wooded shadows. The greatest danger lies within. This is as true of ourselves and our societies. This is the greatest danger because it is the one unseen. We are so attuned to the danger around us, we lie in vulnerable ignorance of the aggression we cause ourselves and others. It is the work of compassion practice to help us reprogram the mind to balance the openness of loving moments with the truth of the dangers in life.  We do this by de-emphasizing the importance of ourselves to ourselves that is clouding the picture.  THis is not to say that we are not important. We are just not as important enough to suck the air out of life. Humans are a little like drunken blowhards going on about their workout routine at a party. SIr Harold Pinter wrote a play called “The Party” in which a group of haute society people revelled in their intrigues and drama while occasionally, we have seemingly inconsequential references to turmoil in the streets. By play’s end it is clear the turmoil is a violent revolution that will end everything they know.

The practice of compassion is not just about love. Love is there regardless. Our practice is about addressing the aggression within each of us that blocks our ability to love. It is about removing our willful ignorance.  This is not about love over hatred. It’s about seeing the nature of our hatred, so we can look past it to what is around us. So, it is essential to (re)develop wisdom as we cultivate compassion. Hatred is an unnatural expression of natural fears. If we understand this, we begin to see that all beings experience fear, yet only humans express this as hatred. The natural world is rife with aggression. But the lion attacking its prey doesn’t hate the antelope. The lion doesn’t lie in her den ruminating on how the world would be better without antelopes. In fact, that very thought would be a form of suicide. Just as indiscriminately sealing borders or burning books are forms of cultural suicide hiding under the guise of protection. Who benefits if we are so intent on protection that we shut down all the life around us? At that point, what is it we are protecting?

Bodhicitta is the Sanskrit term for “awakened heart / mind.” In the Indian systems, and the Tibetan systems after them, heart and mind are symbiotic. They are necessary components of the development of our spiritual selves. We begin to de-emphasize the ego-self that obscures wisdom in protective self-interest. We do this, amazingly, by loving ourselves. Loving ourselves and treating ourselves with respect builds the confidence we need to be less reactive and less important. We have the confidence to stop protecting our space and open our hearts to wisdom. WE develop the wisdom to see the importance of love. With our screaming self-interest diminished, we are able to see clearly the love in our world without being blind to any danger around us. By owning our fears and not isolating blame on others, we are able to work beyond them and contact the love that is so necessary to our survival.

As our heart and mind re-unite, our life re-unites with the world as it is. Developing living compassion is recognizing the natural love in our heart and extending that out to our world. Love allows us to open and openness allows us to see. Therefore, loving compassion is living compassion as it connects us to life. It does this because it is a natural expression of life. Compassion is self-existing, it need not be manufactured. Our work is to love ourselves enough to find the courage to step out of our protective cocoon and to see the natural love all around us.

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