Category: Teaching

I am a teacher in the Shambhala Buddhist tradition with over twenty years experience. I teach classes and lecture in New York City and Baltimore Maryland at the local Shambhala Centers and elsewhere, including the Interdependence Project on the Bowery in NYC, The Shambhala Meditation Center of New York, The Three Jewels Outreach Center and most recently, Warrior bridge Aikido.

It is my life purpose to take the wisdom of my teachers Sakyong Mipham, CHogyam Trungpa and Pema Chodron and offer their wisdom for everyday people.  I truly believe in the power of meditation to help anyone understand their mind, giving them a better understanding of themselves and hence, a better relationship with their world. I have taught and lectured at schools, and in businesses and have lectured at various places including The Ethical Society of New York, The New School, for Google in New York City and the Zen Center of Brooklyn.

Some of my recent lectures:

Waking up In Chaos: Navigating the Sea Change
Across a Night So wide: Working With Sadness and Depression
What A Long Strange Trip Its Been: Understanding Karma in Everyday Life
Yes And: developing Creative Responses to an Unpredicatble Universe
When Rock Hits Bone: Starting From Square Zero
Stumbling Through Gates of Change
Crying to the Sky: The Art of Prayer in a Material World
Fight, Flight, Freeze or Just Freaking Relax: Reconfiguring Conditioned Reaction

And recent workshops:

Our body of Knowledge: Transcending Physical Imprisonment
Yes, And: Developing Our Creative Voice
The Actor’s True Voice
Standing in the Shadows of love: Loving Kindness in Difficult Times
And the series “Meditation And…”
      Meditation and Yoga
      Meditation and the Psychology of Change
      Meditation and Improvisation
      Meditation and Finance

Posted on by joseph mauricio

ANXIETY

 

FACING THE FACELESS DREAD 

Ugh, I’m anxious. I’m so busy and sometimes everything wants my focus. This feeling makes me want to fix change or medicate … uh, something. Something unsettling I can’t identify. Like I’m waiting for an existential jump scare. Washing dishes is good at times like this. Hahaha – but I can’t bring my kitchen sink whenever I get anxious.

So, what is really going on when I feel this unsettling faceless electric dread? Let’s look at it.

Anxiety is a future-oriented state of apprehension in response to perceived threat, uncertainty, or potential negative outcomes. It differs from fear, which responds to immediate danger we can see and touch. Anxiety is fear directed toward unseen speculation, leaving us without a clear framework for resolution.

In anxiety, our nervous and endocrine systems are on high alert without a definable cause. We become cut off, alone, in a state of amplified readiness, scanning for danger that isn’t clear.

At its base, anxiety is natural, it evolved as a survival mechanism that heightens vigilance and prepares us to fight, flight, or freeze. Aside from being a neuro-alert system, it can direct mental focus and enhance performance. When I teach to businesses in the city, I remind people that a touch of anxiety likely drew them to this fast-paced life. As a performer, I’ve learned that a bit of stage fright sharpens focus and presence.

However, chronic anxiety can harm us deeply. It enlarges the amygdala increasing reactivity, shrinks the hippocampus impairing memory and emotional regulation, disrupts the prefrontal cortex, making it harder to calm ourselves, and dysregulates the nervous system causing tension, digestive issues, and sleep disturbances. These affects create a feedback loop between the mind and our nervous system feeding itself with catastrophic thinking, rumination, and the urge to control the uncontrollable.

So how can we train the body/mind system to work with anxiety, so it can guide us without taking control.

Anxiety, Self-Harm, and Compulsions

When anxiety triggers us, we look for an escape like a wild animal. We often reach for habits that soothe in the short term, but ultimately leave us vulnerable and deflated. As a rule, unconscious behaviors ultimately entrench suffering. We might pick our skin, pull our hair, clench our jaw, overeat, drink to numb, or compulsively scroll. Each action offers a brief relief from the discomfort but often creates guilt, physical pain, or more anxiety, trapping us in a loop.

These habits are attempts to manage the unbearable energy of anxiety in the body. They are signals that we need to pause, return to the present, and tend to the body and mind directly, rather than seeking to escape.

Pause before you Act on Anxiety

One of the most helpful rules I’ve learned is to Never act on anxiety.

When we feel anxious, there is an urge to fix, flee, or figure out what went wrong. We want to act, to get rid of the discomfort. But action from anxiety often perpetuate further anxiety, leading to impulsive decisions or words we regret.

Instead, just pause. Allow the anxiety to be there, look at it without feeding it. Then check your body. Are you ready to jump out of your skin? Clenching your fists or jaw? Tapping your feet? On the edge of your seat ready to start doom scrolling at the meeting?

When we pause, we shift from reacting to observing, from doing to being.

The Practice: Stop, Drop, Open

🪐 STOP:

When you notice anxiety, pause. Cut the loop of feeding your brain and having it frighten you in return.  Acknowledge anxiety’s presence. Feel your feet on the ground. If you are walking down the street, rather than speeding up to outrun the discomfort, turn you mind to include the body, slow your pace, and rejoin yourself.

🌿 DROP:

Drop your attention from the spiraling thoughts into your body and breath. Notice the sensations: tightness in the chest, clenching in the belly, tension in the shoulders. Take three slow, deep breaths, lengthening the exhale on each breath to signal safety to your nervous system.

If you are at your desk feeling anxious, take a breath and notice the chair beneath you, the sensation of your hands resting, your feet on the floor. Let your awareness drop fully into your body.

🪶 OPEN:

Once you have paused and acknowledged the body, allow your breath to soften the areas of tension. Breathe into the tightness with warmth, like comforting a frightened child or a barking dog. Anxiety is the body trying to protect a frightened part of you; so treat it with kindness or you will only make things worse. Boycott judgement. Dont think about “relaxing”. Just open and become aware.

Opening means allowing the breath to flow fully and letting the body gradually release its grip. You can place a hand on your heart or belly, reminding yourself:

“I’m here with you.”

When our mind and body are present, we are more complete, as though we’ve returned home. There may be fear, but we can handle it together.

This practice counters the cycle of anxiety feeding on itself. By not acting from anxiety, by stopping, dropping, and opening, you shift from reactive patterns to responsive presence. You do not have to get rid of anxiety to learn to live with it.  Just remember it’s stories are never real. Drop the narrative  and feel.

Welcome home.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

THE DHARMA OF LAUGHTER

Context, Release and Healing with Humor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____________

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

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

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

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

Posted on by joseph mauricio

ENLIGHTENMENT

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

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

This makes me uniquely qualified to speak about it.

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

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

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

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

Just so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A being in a state of perpetual learning.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

THE OUTRAGEOUS ACTION OF COMPASSION

When Cruelty Becomes the Norm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 And maybe that changes everything.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

THE COURAGE OF AN OPEN HEART

Developing Compassion in Action

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that same resilience lives in us.

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

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

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

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

And I feel like she loves her mother very much.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

COMPASSION IN ACTION

The Strength of an Open Heart

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

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

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

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

But both of these experiences are true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We could all benefit from that kind of humility.

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

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

Posted on by joseph mauricio

FEELING THE FEAR

LIBERATION FROM OUR STRUGGLE WITH FEAR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Posted on by joseph mauricio

SPRING REBIRTH

FINDING SANITY IN THE CYCLE OF LIFE

 

Watching a documentary about the ascent of life on Earth, I was struck by how beautiful—and at the same time, horrifically brutal—evolution has been. The dulcet tones of Morgan Freeman’ narration aside, the ferocity of creatures devouring each other, bodies trembling in panic, survival taking center stage was palpable. Yet, the lush beauty of the rainforests, the blossoming of flowers and the ageless beauty of  mothers and their offspring offered a glimpse of the love and inspiration that is the continual rebirth of life on our planet.

However, the chases and the kill scenes kept me engrossed. I felt a kind of invisible brake in my gut squeezing, not wanting to watch but unable to look away.

The power of our vicious nature is compelling.

This poses an existential question: how do we reconcile this raw, bloody legacy – and our attraction to it –  with aspirations of peace, compassion, and awakening?

Buddhist teachings often point to the Middle Way as a  means to resolve extremes and polarities in life. In this case, it would be naïve to deny that violence and cruelty played a role in our evolutionary history. But it would be equally wrong to ignore the yearning for all life to express itself in beauty and love.  In fact, both things are true and remain interwoven in the ascendency of life on the planet. It would be simplistic to reduce our journey to a straight line from single-celled organisms to sentience. The documentary made clear that life evolved not through linear progress but through cycles of collapse and rebirth—five mass extinction events where most of life was wiped out, leaving only fragments to carry on the story.

The documentary ended with the point that we are currently on the cusp of the sixth mass extinction event. The hope it offered was though this seems an eventuality, each extinction event leaves the seeds of the future iteration buried in the darken folds of fearful survival. And that the ensuing emergence of life has heretofore been forms of lesser size and dominance. On the other hand, with each iteration of destruction, it is the dominant species that become sacrificed. Perhaps this explains the Buddhist concept of reincarnation that our culture finds so hard to accept. It may be that the dominant aspect of our life stream – the idea of “Me” – is what is sacrificed. Our culture has difficulty seeing beyond its self-centric understanding. We find it hard to conceive of a life without ourselves at the center. Yet our bodies, accumulations, status, and personalities – everything we see as “Me” are dependent upon other temporary circumstances, all of which will give way in the great change of existence. Yet, something remains to give birth possible, then, to fiercely survive in our bodies and still awaken to our spiritual nature?

Buddhism holds that samsara and nirvana are inseparable. Unlike theistic traditions that define good and evil as opposing absolutes, the awareness of Buddhism sees and values nuance. Samsara is not just suffering—it is the endless cycle of birth, fear, confusion, and desire. Nirvana is not a utopia but rather the cessation of struggle, the clarity beyond reactivity. In every moment of cruelty there lie the seeds of rebirth. And even in the darkest circumstances, love and care are still possible.

Viciousness does not cancel beauty. Cruelty does not erase the possibility of liberation. The end doesn’t justify the means. The means are what shape us.

The path forward isn’t denial or withdrawal—it’s learning how to open wisely to our current experience so we can make conscious choices that benefit ourselves and the life around us. Compassion and kindness aren’t just moral virtues; they are intelligent strategies. They allow us to learn, to feel, to listen. If we cling—whether to pleasure, aversion, or fear—we freeze. The mind locks down, and no learning can occur.

Sometimes, we cling even in love. We try to preserve those we care about in a fixed form, as if freezing them in place could protect them. But clinging to love, to resistance, or to fear all create an unnatural stillness—a holding pattern that prevents real connection and growth.

Still, the Middle Way also acknowledges that constant openness is not always safe. Sometimes we need to close—for protection, for healing. But we should recognize that closing is a temporary measure, not a destination and shutting down can be a choice. The aim is always to reopen when it’s wise to do so. Just as nature combines violence and creativity, so too does our psyche hold pain and promise in equal measure.

Is it to the next iteration of our stream of life.

This echoes Buddhist ideas of residual karma—the seeds of action embedded deep in our seventh consciousness. Even when the slate appears wiped clean, tendencies remain. Just as life on Earth rebooted from its remnants, so too do we carry unconscious imprints across lifetimes. Whether or not we recall them, these imprints shape how we evolve. It’s not just nature or nurture—it’s both, dynamically interwoven.

What we think changes repeatedly each moment. But what we do shapes the path our life will take. Every moment is surviving and thriving. Every moment we are awake, we become part of the process of life.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

TOUCHING GRASS

FINDING SANITY IN EVERYDAY LIFE

Life gets chaotic. And when it does, our mind often meets it with its own brand of turbulence—unsteady, distorted, spinning out. Difficulties begin to feel heavier than they are, sometimes surreal. We wander through a neurotic hall of mirrors, chasing meaning, searching for something to anchor us. In that disoriented state, we’re susceptible to toxic philosophies, sweet distractions, spiritual bypassing, and addictions of all kinds. All trying to ease the discomfort we can’t quite name.

But the answer for which we’re reaching will never be clear if we’re not here to see it. It’s not our ideas. It’s under our feet. Touching grass. That’s it. Stop, drop open and breathe. Let the earth hold you. Because when your body remembers it’s safe, the mind begins to settle. And when the mind settles, clarity returns. Then we might see things as they are.

Aye, but there’s the rub. Things as they are, are not always as we want them. Sometimes facing what’s actually here is uncomfortable. This makes it hard to settle.  So we react—grasping, theorizing, telling ourselves stories, reaching for complicated solutions to soothe a panic that’s already passed. The mind assumes if we feel this much urgency, the answer must be profound and complex. But, it can be quite simple.

In the face of complexity make it easy. Just come back. Just come home and let the view become clear. The body needs grounding, so the mind fnds stillness. Then no matter how chaotic life is, we don’t have to be. We can be grounded and clear. When we are grounded, our next step becomes clear. We don’t have to plan our future, we don’t need to finish the post or clear our to do list. We don’t have to feel embarrassed by our past or anxious about what lies ahead.  We come home to now. Then take one step.

Our panic is ancient, primal. But so is our connection to the earth. That’s why the remedy works—it speaks to the same deep psychology. Like an inner child in a storm, calmed by the presence of something strong and still. Not because the storm is over, but because we are there to sit with us in it.

The earth is always here. And storms always clear.

When we don’t feel that connection, we scramble. Running out into danger as the mind starts inventing enemies, catastrophes, theories, someone to blame, someone to save us. And that swirl of confusion becomes the climate of our inner world. We lose trust in ourselves. We lose track of what’s real.

But what if most of our stories aren’t real at all? What if they’re just echoes of a body that doesn’t feel safe, a mind trying to make sense of an inner alarm? What if the clarity we long for doesn’t come from answers—but from coming home?

Touching earth reminds the nervous system: You are here. You are held. You are  okay. When the body feels safe, it naturally softens, opens and the mind clears. Then we see what is happening and know we have the strength to meet it.

Perhaps, the only meaning to life is that we’re here. This breath is happening now. That the ground still holds us. No need to theologize, strategize or apologize. No need to diagnose or decode. There’s nothing wrong with seeking when we are on a clear path. But when times are difficult, maybe it’s best to stop searching and solving and start listening. Come back to the basics. The basics are what is here. The breath. The body. The grass. The places sanity returns. And no one needs to know. No one needs approve. No one needs to agree. This is between ourselves. We can be the family we need, we can be the guidance we seek, we can be the reason we’re here. By just being here. That’s it. That’s the whole of the law, as Crowley never said.

We can practice this each day. Being aware of our feet on the earth as we walk. Coming back to our seat at work. Feeling the breath in meditation. We can begin each session feeling our feet, feeling our hands, feeling our seat. We can let ourselves find safety in the present. It’s important to acknowledge that everything we want in our future has t0 begin with what is here right now. Just stay here with your life. And when you stray -as inevitably you will- just come back. Right now, come back here.

And we have everything we need to be here.

Posted on by joseph mauricio

A MOTHER’S LOVE

Opening to Compassion

The ideal of a mother’s love as being nurturing and sustaining is an archetype deeply embedded in nature and consciousness. Regardless of the individual relationships with our mother, the essence of motherhood—the embodiment of love and loving-kindness—pervades our experience. This ideal is not just a sentimental notion; it is a foundational aspect of the path of wisdom.

Wisdom alone can become cold, sharp, even unyielding. But when united with love, wisdom finds true expression. Love and loving-kindness are essential forces that balance and ground wisdom in compassion. They bind the clarity of insight to the warmth of connection, allowing both to flourish together.

In many spiritual traditions, this love is awakened through devotion—whether to a teacher, a lineage, a deity, or even our ancestors. For some, it comes from connection to a godhead: a creator or a divine messenger such as the Father and the Son. My grandfather, a pastor in a small community church, had a banner above his pulpit that read: “God is love.” He believed that this was an essential truth. Not a god of war or wrath, but a god that is love. This love is nurturing, caring and complete. This love is larger than us, but one one that we could grow into.

Love and loving-kindness are natural to sentient beings. Because they are part of our primordial nature, we don’t need to acquire or construct them from outside ourselves. Instead, devotion—to a teacher, to the divine, or to life itself—can awaken the love already within us. This process has been described as a mother and child reunion—not only by Paul Simon, but in the sense that our opening heart reconnected to the primordial love that gave birth, and continues to nurture, the universe.

On a journey to developing transcendent compassion we are not seeking to possess this love. Rather, we allow it to ignite our own inner capacity for love. It is not about gaining something new, but uncovering what has always been there—our inherent ability to respond to the universe with love.

So our task is not to create love, but to liberate it. We open to it—not by striving, but by dissolving the obstacles that prevent it from flowing freely.

These obstacles show up in both our ability to receive love and our willingness to express it. Most often, these blocks are rooted in fear. Fear causes us to shut down and react from our most primal conditioning. Biologically and psychologically, this manifests in what Western psychology calls fight, flight, or freeze—and what Buddhist psychology identifies as passion, aggression, and ignorance. We are either grasping toward something, pushing it away, or dissociating from it. These reactions are not mindful; they are reflexive, often pre-conscious. They hijack our awareness before we even realize what’s happening.

Tibetan teacher Zigar Kontrul, Rinpoche and his student Pema Chödrön refer to this as “shenpa“—the experience of being “hooked.” While often translated as “attachment,” shenpa more accurately describes that moment when something grabs us and pulls us out of our natural state. Before we even choose to cling; the experience has taken hold of us.

In classical Buddhism, passion, aggression, and ignorance are all forms of desire—desire to grasp, to resist, or to escape. While it is possible to open to desire, and release the clinging, when fear is involved, our clinging is closing down.  This blocks the radiance of our natural passion and love. To love is to open—and clinging – even when we believe we are expressing our love, is actually the opposite of opening. Sometimes, the power of our love, causes us to be fearful and cling, such as when we  expresses our love through control, manipulation or aggression.

True love arises when we open to experience without grasping or avoidance. But this kind of openness is deeply challenging, even excruciating. To stay still and present while a storm of emotion passes through us requires discipline, training, and deep courage. We are learning to remain still within the fire.

In Tibetan Vajrayana, the deity Vajrayogini embodies this teaching. She is depicted as a young woman standing within flames—the flames of compassion and passion. In one hand she holds a skull cup filled with Amrita, a nectar that intoxicates fearful beliefs and allows us to let go; in the other, a curved knife that cuts through clinging. Together, these symbolize the essence of love and wisdom—complete openness coupled with sharp discernment. We open fully to love but do not cling, possess, or manipulate it. We do not run toward or away; instead, we stand still and dance within the flames.

In certain tantric rituals, such as Chöd or Tsok, practitioners visualize themselves as the deity, allowing all fear, negativity, and clinging to be consumed by the flames of compassion. In doing so, we burn away our neurosis and awaken our natural capacity to love.

On a practical level, we can trust this: we are loving beings. We are the result of love. The Mahayana ideal tells us that all beings, at some point in the cycle of existence, have been our mother—and we theirs. Whether or not we believe in literal reincarnation, the message is clear: we are all interconnected through the web of care, nurture, and compassion.

Our role is to accept love, to recognize it, to avoid clinging to it, and to offer it back to the world—without expectation. Like the rain, which falls without concern for whether flowers will bloom, we offer our love freely. And in doing so, we create the conditions for the blossoming of life wherever it can take root.