By Nurturing Our Natural Kindness
I wanted to reach out in the spirit of my mother, who passed a few years ago and for whom I will always carry a quiet torch. In many ways, she was the great love of my life—a spiritual guide, a dear friend, and a near perfect mom. Trudi, as everyone knew her, was a relentless acceptor of everything in life, including me—her damaged, broken boy soldier, ever faithful, yet rarely grateful.
Like many children, I accepted her for the blessing she was, but never realized how rare that was, or how lucky I was. If there is any part of me that is loving, kind, and accepting, it is my mother still alive in me.
We grew up around a tight-knit Pentecostal church. She was the preacher’s kid, and the only boy who could reach her was a rough, arrogant Spaniard with a world to conquer. Everyone loved “Boy,” as he was called—charming in the way of men for whom the world is opening. Years later, I found a new familial community rooted in an American form of Tibetan Buddhism. My mother cried as she drove away, leaving me at a mountain retreat center blanketed in snow.
In Tibetan Buddhism, we speak of mother and father lineages. While equally important, they are understood differently—not as men and women, but as essential energies within each of us.
The father lineage is seen as creator and protector. The mother lineage as nurturer, holder, and the great agent of understanding that speaks from heart to heart. In many traditional cultures, men traveled and taught, while women held together the fabric of family and community.
My family, unknowingly, echoed this. My father traveled—first as a soldier, then as a businessman—while my mother, who also worked, carried the responsibility of raising us. It was not an easy life for either of them.
I lived in Baltimore during the riots, and as dangerous as those streets could be, the violence often softened when grandmothers stepped out of their homes. I still remember the image of a grandmother scolding a cowering grandson. The mother lineage need not be overshadowed by the father. Ideally, they work in tandem.
During times of difficulty, returning to the sense of protection associated with the father, and the nurturing and connection associated with the mother, can be deeply supportive. This is something we can carry within us.
The image of my father as protector, while potent, also evokes a sense of competition within me. This may be natural for boys and fathers of my generation. But I never worked well with competition. I tried to best others and spent a lot of time in aggressive disconnection. That was not necessary.
I saw my parents as separate and never appreciated how they might be conjoined. As a result, those energies have not been fully integrated within me. I feel deeply and care deeply, but I also fight and compete where it isn’t needed. Perhaps learning to unify these is my life’s task.
It is my view—and the view of the practice I’ve been given—that we begin to resolve the masculine and feminine within our own minds. We do this by recognizing the generosity of these energies, and how fortunate we are to have known them through others.
When times are difficult, we do not have to forget the softness, kindness, and compassion of the mother. When times are generous and forgiving, we do not have to forget the discipline and uprightness of the father.
I want to offer the idea that we can find calm in the storms of our lives and in the storms around us—that this calm and openness is itself an expression of strength. We can rely on our strength without losing our heart, and open our heart without losing our strength. The union of mother and father is strength.
The openness of the mother, protected by the strength of the father, allows us to find stillness in the midst of turmoil.
In remembering my mother, I feel again the presence of that balance—already here, already alive within me. I feel held, reminded that I do not have to do this alone. Something softens, and something becomes steady.
“Waking up”refers to the glimpses or stabilization of realization that is a consequence of regular meditation practice. It might begin with flashes of insight that permeates our practice, but in time fuses into a sense of panoramic knowing. We begin to see ourselves in context to the world around us rather than being lost in ideas to which we’re conditioned. This seems like a good thing, and yet a part of us resists this. We would rather cling to sleep finding excuses to stay in a routine of non-awareness. Perhaps we can set the phone to “snooze”, but that doesn’t really work. Once we’ve seen the sunshine our slumber is ruined. We toss and turn but at some point rolling out of bed becomes choiceless.
In order to secure our nascent awakening, I recommend getting out of bed a bit earlier, tired as we may be, and meet our mind as it may be – just as we find it. Just sit there and be with ourselves waking up slowly in order to synchronize with ourselves as we are and discover the day as it is. Our morning meditation can begin organically before we bound out of bed to a screaming alarm, rushing down the street behind our triple latte.
So, let’s break down the components of this elephant. The elephant stands on the notion of a “self“. At some point in human evolution we became conscious. That localized sense of perceiving began to organize itself into an entity that is aware of itself. This allowed us a vantage from which to navigate an otherwise unmanageable sea of possibility. Yet, that navigation comes at the cost of limiting those possibilities. This notion of self is a necessary limitation in order for consciousness to have a reference point. Ego is a further limitation of those possibilities. Ego happens as self-awareness becomes a self-consciousness that assumes itself to be self-existing. This assumption of “me” can become a self-referential closed loop that reduces awareness to specifically localized points of view. The ego works as a set of patterned functions that reduce what we see of the world. We conflate reality down to serviceable quanta which, in turn, are seen as a means to serve our perceived compensatory needs. These perceived needs are generated to compensate for feelings of lack or vulnerability. In other words, we see what we are conditioned to see and generate feelings that prompt reactions. We generally do this all without much investigation.
The antidote is to stop. Allow a gap. Breathe out. Drop into ourselves and feel ourselves in our body. That is much closer to reality than circular, ego world building. Just drop it. Come home, and be here. This act of self love will allow the elephant to rest. When the elephant rests we can look around and see the world as it is.
After years of study, training and ascetic discipline, the Buddha began a 49-day yogic meditation fast. During this time, he gained mastery over his body and attained relative mental clarity. But, as he was at the point of death, he did not have the strength to fully cross over into awakenment. Perhaps knowing that his work was not about his own accomplishment, but that his quest would be to reach a state that would allow him to help others, he broke his vow and accepted a bowl of rice from a young woman. It wasn’t until he accepted this sustenance that he had the strength to attain full realization.
Therefore, as the Buddha’s teachings developed, the methods changed. Zen Buddhism is different from Vajrayana Buddhism, which is different from Theravada. Buddhism in the west is its own expression. The commonality to all of these expressions is that they are rooted in the belief that we are born as we should be and our lives can be led by a path positioned toward greater awareness of ourselves and our world. Each expression of Buddhism has its own methods. It is considered a rookie mistake to be an unwavering adherent to any method. Renunciation is not abstinence. Renunciation stepping back from an attachment in order to see more clearly. Sometimes this happens all at once, and sometimes incrementally. Renunciation may require abstinence in some cases. or for some period for those who cannot work safely with the person, place, or thing. There is no shame in that. But abstinence is not the point. The point is liberation. And liberation is not another jail we place ourselves in. Liberation is the vast space beyond our imprisonment that we can grow into.