Category: Writing

For Valentine’s Day 

 

Valentine’s Day is set aside to commemorate falling in love. Saint Valentine, roses and chocolate, Cupid, and Venus—the morning star named for the goddess of love—are classic symbols of romantic love.

But, as with romance itself, surface appearances often conceal deeper realities. St. Valentine was a tragic figure. Roses have thorns. Chocolate spikes blood sugar and precipitates an emotional crash. Cupid is a hunter with the aim of a baby. And Venus, the planet named for the goddess of love, so beautiful as the first glimmer of hope in the morning sky, actually has a surface temperature of 450°F, a claustrophobic atmosphere of Methane gas. It rains sulfuric acid. It’s seismic disquiet has earthquakes and volcanic eruptions daily. It spins backwards, and each day lasts as long as a year.

And yes—this is the planet named for the goddess of love.

Not to rain acid on anyone’s parade, but problems with romantic love arise when we fail to look beyond our projections to see the truth beneath.  We will never truly see another if we fail to recognize ourselves. Everything we grasp becomes poison if we fail to grasp ourselves. Loving another without knowing ourselves is like putting on silken finery without having bathed. Surface beauty disguises disillusionment without internal clarity.  When we look to someone without self-awareness they will remain mere projections in our internal dramas. We cannot know another if we fail to know ourselves. We cannot love another if we do not love ourselves.

Self-love is the requisite for loving. We talk a lot about this idea of self-love. But what does that actually mean? Practically speaking, terms like self-reliance, self-respect, and self-support may be more useful. We cannot fully love what we do not understand.

The idea of self-love is vague and undefined, much like much of our cultural language. To make self-love practical, we can look at the actions that lead toward it. For meditators, that may mean developing awareness, wisdom, and clarity about ourselves—and the willingness to go beyond ourselves and work with the world around us. However, we little help to our community, to the other beings that make up the life we are part of, if we lack self-familiarity and have not developed self-reliance, self-respect, and self-support leading to self-awareness.

Without self-awareness, our world is reduced transactions with two-dimensional tools: I want this. I want that. The path of meditation suggests we can step beyond ego’s base needs and begin to see and function clearly in the world. In relationships, we often hear that we must place another’s needs above our own. Yet, seeing ourselves requires that we don’t lose ourselves.  Honoring ourselves enough to go beyond ourselves without giving ourselves away; it is setting aside primal reactivity and learning to listen. Listening does not require believing. In fact, it works best when belief is suspended. With self-familiarity—developed through meditation—we can hear what the other person thinks they need. And that distinction matters. Wants, desires, and needs are not the same. “I need you to be quiet right now” is not the same as “please be quiet right now.” Our needs are often confused with wants. By becoming fixated on the surface experience of what we think we want, we often lose ourselves and actually fail to support our needs.

Pining away whining for someone else to love us nor provide for us will bring only insecurity and dependence. And news flash: dependence is not love. Hurting, yearning, self-flagellation are all very dramatic, but they are not love. Pain is not an expression of love. Pain is often the self-absorption that comes from lack of awareness.

This can be remedied through meditation. By sitting with ourselves patiently we develop familiarization which naturally leads to self-respect and self-awareness. And from self-awareness, love—caring and affection—arises on its own. Our base nature is clear, kind, and compassionate. In the Buddha’s later teachings came the radical notion that all beings possess Buddha-nature—an innate seed of wakefulness. This wakefulness can be recognized and refined through self-awareness, cultivated through meditation. Returning to the present moment is like Occam’s razor, cutting to what is essential so we can see clearly.

So beginning a meditation practice is like a courtship. We are slowly, deliberately and patiently learning to trust ourselves enough to open and reveal our Buddha Nature.

Loving ourselves doesn’t mean we have to like ourselves all the time. But if we look beyond judgment, assumption, and neglect, meditation may offer us the self-awareness and dignity to recognize someone we might like. And all of this is an act of loving.  Sitting there with yourself, quelling the storms by seeing the storms, learning to hold space for the longest relationship you’ve had in this life. Learning to fall in love with no one else around.

And from there, we can look beneath the surface and begin to love others.

 

 

The Signal in the Noise

 

Cutting Through is a term coined by Trungpa, Ripoche. It was inspired by a Tibetan Buddhist practice called “Trekcho” which is a series of practices used to cut through obstacles.

This notion was foundational to Trungpa as he developed his teachings for the West. Faced with the profusion of conflicting and confusing information in his new home, it seemed the energy of cutting through was a very good place to begin. The first book he published in the United States was the seminal Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism in which he wrote about releasing ourselves from the trap of using spiritual practices for material ends. More generally, cutting through refers to a fundamental energy that can be developed to cut past mental complication and confusion. It is not something we need to try to do but simply a natural aspect of our mind that we can isolate, develop and employ when needed.

We tend to think that extricating ourselves from webs of confusion would be a complicated practice. This is not necessarily so. Rather than adding complexity to complication, the practice of Trekcho is a like lightning strike or a hot knife through butter. When confusion arises instead of getting bogged down in the minutia of clashing narratives, we could simply cut through and effortlessly move past. This is an assertive application of mind that can be employed, as needed, to clarify and simplify situations in life.  It is essential, however, that our view is to help rather than harm all concerned.

A cat mom will swipe at an unruly kitten to keep it in line. The strike is instructive and after the lesson is conveyed, there are no residual hurt feelings. Unlike humans who imbed psychological narratives to everything, mammals just do and move on. This is natural. Trekcho is natural. It is action in its purest form. This “clean” cat mother action is representative of the Vajra family in the Tibetan Five Wisdom tradition. It is cutting through the noise directly to the signal. In its wisdom form, Vajra energy is characterized by sharpness, clarity and decisive action. But Vajra has a shadow side. When in the service of self, the energy manifests as anger, frustration or impatience. The inflection point between the wisdom of clarity to neurotic anger comes as we are pulled from doing what is needed for all concerned, into self-interest, prejudice or resentment.  When the energy is self-serving it becomes destructive rather than constructive.

Vajra energy is so potent it becomes very important to remind our psyche that we are employing it for the benefit of beings.  When we say, “benefit of beings” we mean all beings concerned –  including, but not exclusively, ourselves. As it is so easy to slip into self interest, all formal Trekcho practice begins with acknowledgement of a wisdom lineage and an assertion of the Bodhisattva Vow.

Like mom cat we are not analyzing, we are doing. Cutting through is pure action. Just make it simple. Occam’s razor is a scientific principle the states when you have a preponderance of possibilities, the simplest possibility is our first step. Usually, it’s right in front of our face.

Finding the signal within the noise, or the point in the profusion of life’s information, means we are not adding further complication but instead cutting through discursiveness and ignorance. This is an application of a stabilized mind. Often people mistake ignorance for meditation. Spiritual bypassing is employing what we’ve learned in meditation to avoid the sharp edges of reality. Trungpa famously said “meditation is not a vacation from irritation.”  It is about dealing with life and learning to keep balance and poise in the turmoil. It is not jettisoning to a dissociative state free of other people’s worries.  We are other people.  Lofty ideals make us feel we’re destined for something greater while we’re up to our knees in swamp water. We might notice the slow, steady movement of crocodiles or alligators or whatever the heck it is in the swamps. If we want to help others we have to cut through the judgments, doubt and noise and admit we’re in a vat of trouble.

Cutting through is hard medicine for hard times.

The image for cutting through is the sword of Manjushri, the Bodhisattva of Wisdom. However, the sword he wields not a sword of destruction. It is sword of wisdom.  It is said the sword is so sharp it cuts through the noise without violence. The sword of Manjushri cuts past the obstacles with not credit or blame. It is so sharp it moves through obstacles as if they weren’t there. This is possible, because, in fact, they aren’t really there. Most of the obstacles that we face are made-up or fake news or our own judgment, doubt and shame.  Rather than creating more noise by arguing the point we just cut through to the point.

The sword of prajna that is so sharp sometimes merely gripping its handle is all we need. Remembering that this is all made up. Remembering elaboration and complication are never the point.  Having the confidence to know that and then let go.  A dull knife cannot cut, so you hack maybe saw, but you make a mess and infinitely more pain.  By developing clarity and sharpening our wisdom we cut past hacking and sawing to cutting through.  through but the sharpest knife but without even application it just sees the confusion and we’re past it effortlessly and decisively.

Decisive and effortlessness. Sometimes we think the antidote to complications and confusion would be a more aggressive complication. But that “fire with fire” approach is the dull knife of our ego assertion.  Vajra decisiveness is so clear, and so sharp that cutting through is effortless. We don’t antagonize the obstacle, nor do we try and assert our point. We just simply cut through and step beyond.

Staring in the Face of Hate

 

Lately there are times I find myself yelling at my computer. That’s embarrassing because as a Buddhist I’m committed to a path of nonviolence and compassion. I do what I can to my maintain emotional balance. I try to stay politically neutral and focus on the human qualities beneath the actions. And like many of us, I’m becoming increasingly frustrated.

But that frustration is starting to feel violent toward myself. I’m not sure that a philosophical soft focus is actually seeing clearly. I’m angry. But do I put nonviolence on hold long while I scream at the screen? Do I have to release myself from my vows of compassion?

Or can compassion speak to the totality of my feelings? Can compassion be fierce? Can there be nonviolence married to activism? Can we be assertive without aggression? Can we engage with life even when we feel overwhelmed and impotent? Well, as our last great President said, “yes we can.”

First of all, we can relax. It’s not your fault. It’s not the world’s fault. It’s not even Donald or Stephen Miller or Kristy Noem’s fault. We may hate many things in this world, but if we hold that hatred inside, or swallowed it in embarrassment, we become victims. We’re allowing the hurt of a hurtful world to hurt ourselves. And that is helping no one. Even reactions we deem understandable, depression, fatigue, teeth grinding anxiety, while forgivable, are not helping anyone. And this makes us feel inadequate, which makes everything worse.

But I’m convinced we can develop compassion strong enough to let ourselves become angry, or depressed or anxious. How we are, who we are is all we are. And if we’re dedicated to helping the world we need ourselves. Yes, we can.

Mealy mouth hallmark card compassion is based on people pleasing people to get by skirting across the surface. True Compassion is based on clear seeing, or insight. When we see beyond self-interest into things, and into the world.

Compassion and wisdom are the two wings of skillful action. When compassion and insight are melded,  we have caring wisdom and smart compassion. When this happens skillful means is born. Skillful means , or upaya, is action that is appropriate to the moment. It’s not a philosophy or law. Upaya is action that best serves ourselves and our world. Hence, True Compassion is not kindness alone. It does not have to be sweet. It is not restricted by public acceptance, social politeness, or emotional numbing. Compassion is wisdom and caring combined to produce actions that actually reduce harm in the world and ourselves.

Okay, sounds good, but how do we do it? Starting with wisdom, seeing the world as it is implies paying attention despite our judgements and prejudices. Often it’s our judgement that hurts. We carry judgments around like old laundry. Clear seeing is looking past  judgement no matter how justified we feel and seeing what’s actually happening. This takes training. We have to learn not to believe everything we think or everything we think we feel. We have to doom schroll critically and believe less. We have to learn to see without judgement – or at least put judgement aside long enough to see what’s there.

However, that doesn’t mean we have to fix anything. We see what’s there and if there is nothing we can do to help then our upaya may be just witnessing – holding our seat, engaged and caring, present and representing sanity for the life on our planet.  Seeing what’s there and holding 0ur seat is more powerful than we might think.

Buddhist iconography illustrates the point. Manjushri, the Bodhisattva of wisdom, carries a sword. This sword of wisdom cuts through confusion, bullshit, and disinformation. The Bodhisattva of compassion, Avalokiteshvara, is sometimes depicted with a thousand arms that represent the many possible actions compassion my take when in the service of wisdom. Tantric icons are depicted flaming, as they burn up the prejudice and ill-will their compassion is liberated as active, and passionate. Compassion is not a static philosophy. It adapts. Compassion responds. Compassion does what works. If we come from wisdom, seeing clearly beyond our self-interest, what needs to be done becomes apparent.

And when nothing is apparent, then witnessing may be what needs to be done. Staring in the face of hatred is not a mere default. There are 8 billion of us watching. Staring in the face of hatred, even through our cellphones, can be a powerful thing. I care deeply about nonviolence and communication. I care about kindness and love in our society. Compassion is insight born of clarity and love, fused into action that is appropriate and effective. But love is not only heart emojis and floating balloons. Love is not passivity. Love is not silence in the face of harm.

Love can be active and it can be fierce as a mother bear defending her cub or as still as a cat mother holding her child.

What we are witnessing now—politically, industrially, militarily—has very little to do with care.  Our political systems are not designed for anyone’s well-being. Most are designed to accumulate power. Power is a commodity. The planet, and the life that lives on it, are transactional bartering chips. It always has been. Very recently, Stephen Miller, the White House Deputy Chief of Staff for Policy and Homeland Security, spoke openly about how all the world respects power. Only power. He said nothing about compassion, wisdom, even knowledge. Nothing about communication. Nothing about safeguarding the health, safety, or dignity of the people he claims to represent. Fascists never do. They always tell people to tighten their belts ahead of a glorious future.

The greatest nation on earth. The strongest. The richest. We’ve heard this before. And yet the US has one of the highest maternal mortality rates in the industrialized world. We have one of the lowest literacy rates among peer nations. Our system clearly benefits some at the expense of many. This is not a family. This is not even a clan. This is a power structure designed to keep some in power at the expense of the rest.

Two core strategies always appear when power is threatened: find someone to blame and attack them hard enough to terrify everyone else. Brand dissenting as treason. Call critics enemies. Violence doesn’t even need to be subtle. When anyone who speaks up is targeted, freedom of speech collapses without a single law changing. Media narrows. Culture bends. Institutions rebrand themselves to survive.

And to be honest, the viciousness feels good to many. Ironically, a narrowing focus feel like freedom. Greed, hatred, domination seem sexy to those who feel resentful. It feels good. But this comes at an extraordinary cost. Nature always corrects imbalance. Always.

And we need balance too. Rage that destroys our health and clarity helps no one. Turning off the news sometimes is necessary. Creating boundaries is necessary. But if we are committed to compassion, we cannot turn away. We have to look directly at violence—even when it’s standing right in front of us, aiming straight at our face. Or shoots us in the face.

I remember earlier years of unrest—Kent State, assassinations, repression. It felt hopeless then. And yet the presence of resistance mattered. Protest mattered. Witness mattered. The chant was “the whole world is watching.” And it was. Pressure accumulated. Things shifted, slowly, imperfectly, but measurably. And things changed.

As they will again.

 

 

FINDING YOUR GROOVE

This post is inspired by the great rhythm keepers of the music of our lives. From African tribal drumming, through the ubiquitous grooves of Hal Blaine, Carol Kaye and the Wrecking Crew, to the funk groove of Tony Thompson and the beautifully intuitive timekeeping of Ringo, their grooves moved us across dancefloors, through our lives, and took up residence in our minds while we were jogging, showering, or trying to otherwise not pay attention.

As life is not static, I am interested in the notion of flow both life and meditation practice. Like finding our groove.  Dropping down to the root, finding the groove and letting the feel take us.

Mindfulness / Awareness practice is a form of meditation where we are mindful of an object happening in the present while allowing a natural expansion of awareness around that. At the beginning of our training this process is clunky but with practice we begin the follow the music. An anchor that connects us to mindfulness, such as the breath, should be something present, tangible, and definite. This grounding allows us to keep time with the flow of life in order that our meditation is grounded enough for us to relax and open into awareness. While mindfulness is grounding, awareness is much freer. Although seeming opposites, rather than competing, these two can work beautifully together. This is much like a rhythm section creating the ground to free the music.

In our personal practice, we can be mindful of the breath beating out a rhythm as we become aware of the room or our body to begin with. In time, we might relax further, allowing awareness of our thoughts without becoming lost in them.

This dynamic process posits an interplay between the baseline of the raw present and the abstract movement of our creative process—breath and thinking. Thoughts are very rarely in the present and so without training they might lead us away from mindfulness. When we lose mindfulness, we lose our awareness. However, if mindfulness becomes strong enough, we can allow the mind to play. Mindfulness and awareness are two distinct operations of the mind. Should we develop our mind training to a point where these two components speak to each other and work together, our thoughts, sounds, and feelings become less a distraction and more part of the music of our present experience.

Mindfulness is not stationary. Like everything in physical reality, the present moment is dynamic. It is always moving. Mindfulness is keeping our consciousness present with this movement. When we are synchronized with this movement, we are on the threshold of a flow state.

Flow state depends on what the Buddhists call the Middle Way. The Middle Way comprises the structure through which the present can flow naturally, so that the two extremes, rather than being in conflict, actually create the space within which we can move freely. The extremes become like the banks of a river. Using our musical analogy, on one end we have the strict drumbeat of a marching band; on the other extreme we have very open free jazz, which eschews rhythm for expressive content. In our lives, this refers to the fact that structure, discipline, and the needs and demands of life do not need to be in conflict with our central creative voice. As humans, we need that central creative voice. It makes me very sad that contemporary life deemphasizes that voice for so many of us. In that case, we are just keeping time until we die.

“Marching to the beat of a different drummer” is an odd statement, because everyone moves to the beat of their own drummer. They may rely on strict rhythms taught to them by society, or they may be more creative in their approach. Yet the Middle Way suggests that we can do both: keep time and allow creative expression to exist in our lives. If our creativity forces us away from form, then we are in danger of just wandering. If we cling to form like a life raft, afraid to let go into the waves around us, we stultify our creativity. Mindfulness / Awareness practice is the training that allows us to do both—to let ourselves go into the creative movement of life while continuing to return to what is integral, tangible, and present. As with teachers, musicians, or anyone involved in creative expression, finding the framework that keeps us present is essential, both for communicating with an audience and for giving ourselves the confidence to let go into the work.

In the 1990s, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s work (especially Flow and related writings) listed obstacles to relaxing into a flow state. A few of these are:

• Anxiety (challenge exceeds skill)

• Boredom (skill exceeds challenge)

• Distractions and interruptions

• Lack of clear goals

• Living up to, or reacting from, another’s ideals

• Lack of immediate feedback

• Self-consciousness / excessive self-monitoring

• Fear of failure or evaluation

• Overemphasis on external rewards

• Fragmented attention

• Lack of intrinsic motivation

• Poor balance between challenge and skill

• Psychological entropy (inner disorder)

• Fatigue or depleted mental energy

• Environmental chaos or noise

• Lack of autonomy or sense of control

These things that keep us from finding the groove in our lives are also among the obstacles to our Mindfulness / Awareness practice.

So, finding our way through life with synchronicity and flow requires not only letting go, but training the mind to provide the container that allows us to let go productively.

Carol Kaye rhythm genius of the Wrecking Crew 

Uncovering Our Buddha Nature

The Buddha grew up in relative luxury for the time and the conditions of the city-state in which he was raised as a prince. In his teens he began to exhibit a restlessness not uncommon to people at that age. He wanted to know more than he could see within the walls in which he was ensconced. He didn’t know it initially, but he was trapped by his father’s love to protect him, as well as by the comforts he was afforded. Contemporaneously, we refer to this as the “golden chains” syndrome—where people are bound by comfort, love, and care, but ultimately kept separate from developing their essential selves in the world.

Birds struggle when they leave the nest and learn to fly. Caterpillars becoming butterflies must go through the stress and turmoil of that process. Tests were done where the cocoon was cut open to make it easier for the butterfly, and when the butterfly emerged it was unable to fly because it had not developed the necessary strength. Adversity, strength, danger, and fear are things loving parents try to protect their children from. And when a child is raised with the considerable means of a prince, there is seemingly no end to the distractions and comforts by which one may become imprisoned.

The Buddha learned archery and falconry. He enjoyed romantic connections with many women. He studied languages and the philosophies of his time. He had no shortage of challenges in martial training, sports and studies, and was supported at every opportunity in the actualization of his dreams. But where they his dreams? Or was he being directed toward his father’s and his society’s expectations? And did this leave something unfulfilled within him?

The restlessness inside a young person does not adhere to logic. It is not bound by the constraints of conventional understanding. It is an itch, an urge—something that pushes and pulls. Like a chick breaking through its shell, it can be painful, and it can lead a young person into painful situations. There were dangers on the streets in the Buddha’s time. Particularly, there was a social upheaval sometimes compared to Paris in the 20’s or Western World in the 1960’s.  Young people were pulled away from societal and religious convention into the contemporaneous turbulence of influence. There were ascetics who had abandoned the safety of convention. And this has always been threatening to the status quo. In the Buddha’s case, his father, as King of the Sakya clan, had very specific ideas about his son’s calling. Siddhartha Gautama who was expected to succeed his father was expected to live a life commensurate with wealth and power of his station.

Yet, the Buddha was pulled toward his own path. Like kids jumping from their bedroom windows at night—the Buddha eventually snuck out of the palace in order to glimpse the world. Not yet ready to leave his environment entirely, he simply wanted to see what lay beyond the walls. He encountered the basic marks of existence, birth, old age, sickness and death, that he had been shielded from. This was eye-opening to him. He saw an old man. He saw a funeral with a corpse. He saw a sick man, beggars, monks. He saw suffering and dissolution. And naively asked why. Why did people suffer?

Rather than fleeing back to the safety of the palace, these discoveries strengthened his resolve to move further from away from the confines of comfort and into a deeper understanding of the nature of humanity. This became the essential characteristic that defined the Buddha throughout his life: the need to see further, to seek more clearly, to understand with direct connection what the world was beyond the usual assumptions that kept his people trapped in cycles of suffering.

He left his position, his family and his clan and traveled, studying with different ascetics and engaging in many practices and techniques—some very extreme. Having been raised in great comfort, he was nevertheless an exemplary student of meditation and yoga. He demonstrated a profound ability to abandon the trappings of the world in order to discover what was actually occurring in his heart and mind. He understood relatively early that the trappings of the world were distractions and, ultimately, sources of discomfort. There was something within human beings he wanted to reach. How could true happiness be found? How could samadhi and serenity—promised by his teachers and guides—be realized in his very life?

At some point, fasting and meditating left him exhausted, depleted, and emptied. He sat beneath the Bodhi tree. He no longer had the energy to focus his mind or apply effort. All that remained was surrender—a state of profound acquiescence. A woman came to him offering sustenance. She saw his weakened state but also sensed his presence and power. He simply needed enough energy to place his mind fully in the present moment in order to move beyond.

In this state of deep surrender, he broke his vow accepting what was offered and ate a small amount of rice milk porridge. Soon after, his strength returned, and with it the ability to settle and clarify his mind. He opened to a state neither of great pleasure nor of great pain, but beyond those designations—into a serenity that transcended good and bad, pleasure and suffering. He reached the essential state of being human. It was not an exalted place befitting a king. It was rock bottom, empty of expectation. It was just so.

As he continued to sit beneath the tree, eating modestly and rebuilding his energy, he realized an extreme clarity which stabilized into an experience referred to as enlightenment.

Some say he attained Nirvana. But Nirvana is the absence of suffering, and suffering is one of the primary human experiences. So, Enlightenment is the realization of Nirvana within samsara—it is seeing Nirvana not apart from the world but expressed within it. This is the inseparability of samsara and Nirvana, the point at which duality dissolves and we become one with experience itself.

Stepping back, we can see a process unfold. First, there is the indescribable urge to understand more, to experience more. This urge often becomes distorted when we seek shortcuts—through excessive drugs, alcohol, material accumulation, or superficial experience. The search begins inward, with personal experience. The Buddha realized the essence of being human, who he was in the present moment beyond concept. When the path is channeled into direct, embodied experience rather than abstract theory, a vast richness is revealed.

Is this experience available to us in the busy absorption of our busy lives? It sounds good, and while the Buddha’s trials have pathed the way for us, is important to make offerings of our attachment, and attachment to our comforting yet limiting, concepts of how we think we are. Our righteous anger, our justifiable love and the veils of ignorance we hide behind.

Can we do this?

The experience of the Buddha indicated we can. But the Buddha can’t affect realization for us. The Buddha is gone. But to Buddhists the Buddha is the example. He laid the groundwork for how we can journey to awakening, incrementally, with great patience. And this is entirely possible because the same components –  inquisitiveness, a longing to know more and the empathy for the suffering of beings – exist in all of us. This Buddha Nature is our human birthright.

The Buddha’s awakening, is our awakening.

 

FACING THE DANGER

We all feel it. Some of us live with it all the time. That live-wire sense of urgency seems to compel us to do … something. Anything. The intensity with which it hits seems to urge action.

Anxiety is, if nothing else, uncomfortable.

We sometimes gird for the danger locked in straight jackets of tension. At other times we freeze in place while piles of unanswered demands keep growing into mountains around us. And other times we just want to run, looking out the window dreaming or doom scrolling for a dopamine rush as we try in vain to keep our mind on a task.  Strangely, as urgent as it is, we  can’t focus 0ur attention.

But the way out of this, is the way in. Recognize it is a fit of anxiety, accept that as a normal process gone a bit off kilter, and look into our experience instead of pushing past the experience. We miss the point and forgo an opportunity when we choose a blind exit strategy.

Wait. It’s okay. You’ve seen this before. This is only the nervous system’s clickbait. Don’t fall for it. Hold your seat and feel in to the experience. You can master this. Or at the very least learn to work with it. But working with something requires we learn more about it. So let’s pause, breathe and take a look into this.

Anxiety is a future-oriented state of apprehension—an emotional response to perceived threats, uncertainty, or the possibility of negative outcomes. It differs from fear, which is tied to an immediate and identifiable danger. Fear has an object we can see, feel, taste, or touch. Anxiety, by contrast, is fear directed toward the unseen and speculative: the imagined scenarios, the “what ifs,” the landscapes of uncertainty our minds project ahead of us.

From an evolutionary perspective, anxiety developed as a survival mechanism. It heightens our vigilance so we can scan for potential threats, and it prepares the body to act quickly—whether through fight, flight, or freeze. In moderate doses, this system is useful, even beneficial, sharpening our focus and improving performance when we face challenges.

However, when anxiety becomes chronic or unmanaged, it begins to reshape both the brain and the body. The amygdala can grow more reactive, making emotional responses quicker and stronger. The hippocampus may shrink, which affects memory and emotional regulation. The prefrontal cortex—responsible for reasoning, planning, and calming the mind—can become impaired, making it harder to talk ourselves down from fear. At the same time, the autonomic nervous system may dysregulate, leading to persistent muscle tension, digestive issues, and disturbed sleep.

Psychologically, anxiety often reflects a pattern of overestimating threats while underestimating our ability to cope. It thrives on intolerance of uncertainty and a constant search for control. Catastrophic thinking and rumination loops can reinforce each other, trapping us in cycles of worry that feel increasingly difficult to escape.

Working with anxiety begins in the body and daily life. Regular exercise helps regulate cortisol and raises endorphin levels, improving mood and resilience. Good sleep hygiene is essential, as poor sleep dramatically amplifies amygdala reactivity and emotional sensitivity. Balanced nutrition stabilizes blood sugar, which directly influences anxiety levels. Simple breathing practices—especially slow diaphragmatic breathing—activate the parasympathetic nervous system and can reduce acute anxiety in real time.

Training the mind adds another layer of support. Mindfulness meditation quiets amygdala activity and strengthens the prefrontal cortex’s ability to regulate emotion. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy helps reframe catastrophic thoughts and builds a more balanced internal dialogue. Exposure therapy gradually teaches the nervous system that feared situations can be tolerated, reducing avoidance patterns over time. Somatic practices such as yoga, body scans, and grounding exercises help soothe physiological hyperarousal and reconnect the mind with the body.

Medication can be an important option when anxiety is persistent or overwhelming. SSRIs are often used for chronic or generalized anxiety because they help regulate mood over the long term. Benzodiazepines may provide short-term relief during episodes of intense anxiety, though they carry risks of tolerance and dependence. Beta-blockers can help manage the physical symptoms of performance-related anxiety, such as trembling or rapid heartbeat.

From a spiritual or contemplative standpoint, anxiety is often viewed as a misalignment with impermanence and uncertainty—an attempt to make solid what is fundamentally fluid. In Buddhist and related traditions, the practice is not to eliminate anxiety but to observe it as a transient mental event rather than a fixed identity. By approaching anxious states with compassion, acceptance, and curiosity, we loosen their grip and begin to transform our relationship with them. Anxiety becomes an experience to understand rather than an enemy to fight.

Anxiety is a natural response encoded in ancient survival circuits. It becomes problematic when it entrenches itself in chronic patterns shaped by neurological, cognitive, and behavioral loops. Yet by understanding how anxiety works—biologically, psychologically, and philosophically—we gain the tools to meet it more skillfully. This i9s to say we learn to work with it.  When we learn to work with something our relationship becomes less contentious.

In the long term, with lifestyle care, cognitive reframing, somatic grounding, and contemplative insight, anxiety becomes less of a barrier and more of a guide.

In the moment of discomfort, remember don’t act. Be cognizant of your breathing. Long slow out breaths.  Calm the system so the mind can become clear. Breathing into the panic is more effective than we might think. Big problems seem to want big remedies. But keeping it simple may be the best way into understanding.

• it’s anxiety
• it’s okay. It’s here to help. It’s just become inflamed.
• how can I make a relationship with this?
• how can I ease the pressure?
• breathe.
• It’s not about me. It’s an ancient reaction to modern life