Category: Writing

Discovering the   S p  a   c     e   Around Us

Today we’re discussing “the gap,” a simple yet crucial principle in meditation. This concept relates to the Buddha’s Third Noble Truth—The Cessation of Suffering—which is often discussed as though it were a permanent state. However, one of Buddhism’s core principles, and perhaps a basic aspect of human existence, is that all things are impermanent. When asked if Buddhism itself is impermanent, His Holiness Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche answered, “Yes, that will pass as well.” This is a startling notion, especially for those who have dedicated their lives to this path.

If all things are impermanent, then so too is suffering. This is the good news: no matter how dire our circumstances, they are not permanent. The saying goes, “The good news is all things change, and the bad news is all things change.”

If suffering is impermanent, we might ask, what does it change into? The opposite would be non-suffering, or nirvana—the cessation of suffering. But even these are just points along an ever-changing spectrum. Suffering and its cessation are not final end points but experiences along the way. We amplify our suffering by clinging to the idea of “self,” making our suffering seem more important than that of others. This personalization of suffering adds unnecessary weight, making it appear more solid and real than it truly is.

Moments of non-suffering are often more frequent than we notice, but they are just as impermanent. If you’re experiencing pain in one leg, for instance, you can shift your focus to the other leg, which is pain-free, showing that the pain is not as all-encompassing as it feels. Similarly, emotional pain—like heartbreak or financial crises—often feels inescapable. Yet, moments arise when you feel a brief sense of relief or peace, only for the mind to pull you back into suffering.

These fleeting moments of relief are what we call “the gap.” This gap is significant because it demonstrates the non-solidity of suffering. The cessation of suffering is not one final moment of peace but a recurring experience interwoven through life, just like suffering itself. It’s like looking out the window of a tour bus—on one side, you see turmoil, and on the other, a beautiful, calm ocean. Both exist, and where you focus your attention matters.

When we’re locked in the truth of our suffering, we amplify it, believing that our suffering is the most important in the universe. But in reality, it’s just part of the broader fluctuations of life. Recognizing this brings relief, as we realize that our suffering doesn’t color everything—there are always gaps of peace, no matter how small.

Likewise, the peace that comes from noticing the gap is impermanent. It’s always there but not always accessible, especially during moments of intense pain or stress. Still, at some point, whether in dreaming, connection with loved ones, or even in death, relief from suffering will come. This brings us to a deeper question—if everything is impermanent, what about death?

In Buddhism, even death is not permanent. Many in the West interpret this to mean reincarnation as a new human form. But the Buddhist view of impermanence is more aligned with the scientific understanding that energy cannot be destroyed, only transformed. As Joni Mitchell sang, “We are stardust, we are golden,” pointing to the fact that the very atoms in our bodies come from stars. Nothing is self-existent; everything arises from the space around us.

Space, in this sense, is a fundamental element in the universe. It’s sometimes referred to as the “womb of life” or, in tantric traditions, the “vagina of life,” as it gives birth to tangible reality. Yet, even tangible reality is imbued with space. Nothing is solid; everything contains elements of openness and impermanence.

Western society, influenced by materialism, struggles to recognize space. We tend to make “things” out of everything, from our thoughts to our experiences. This materialistic orientation blinds us to the changeability of life and the creative potential that space represents. Transformation is scary, so we cling to the solidity of things, keeping openness and creativity at bay.

In Eastern philosophy, however, space is recognized as one of the basic elements—alongside earth, air, fire, and water. Space is seen as the quintessence, the “fifth element,” which is not only essential but the very mother of all other elements. It’s the space between things that allows for change and transformation and for the other elements to clarify.

Meditation training helps us reconnect with this space. By letting go of our thoughts and coming back to the breath, we begin to experience non-conceptual space. This practice allows us to see the lack of solidity in our thoughts and beliefs, helping us open to a more creative and essential life.

In Buddhism, the teachings of the Third Turning point to Buddha-nature, a concept that unifies emptiness and compassion. Buddha-nature is dynamic and ever-present, though not solid or permanent. It’s always part of our experience, even if we don’t always notice it. The practical work of meditation is to retrain the mind to see space—to notice the gaps in our thinking and in our lives.

Space has two cognitive components: one is clarity, where nothing obstructs our view, and the other is darkness or unknowing, where there’s no light. People who embody space in their personality often exhibit openness and acceptance, though they may be difficult to engage for feedback. Space, in its essence, is neutral, offering neither judgment nor obstruction. It simply exists.

This doesn’t mean we should dissolve into space and abandon our responsibilities. Bills still need to be paid, and people still need our care. Form and emptiness become one in the mind of the practitioner. We learn to acknowledge the reality of suffering, treat it with respect, but also see it as transparent, changeable, and impermanent.

In meditation, we can support this understanding by noticing the space in our lives—the gaps. As Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche used to say, “Mind the gap,” a phrase also used in the London Underground to warn passengers of the space between the train and platform. For practitioners, it means to acknowledge and respect the moments of openness and non-suffering. These moments, even if unclear or uncomfortable, offer potential for insight and transformation.

By staying with the gap, rather than clinging to certainty or suffering, we allow the natural clarity of space to emerge. It’s in these gaps, these spaces of unknowing, that transformation becomes possible.

 

And Home is Where the Heart is

From the moment life emerged in that first warm pond, it has been on a continuous quest for safety and growth. While life seeks a safe place to rest, it also repeatedly ventures beyond its comfort zone to explore and evolve. Life has always been challenging, yet resilience is less about brute force and more about channeling energy into a sustainable flow. The idea of overcoming life’s obstacles through sheer grit and determination may sound heroic, but in reality, our journey through life is much more nuanced.

We move forward with bravery, only to retreat to our safe haven for rest and replenishment. Along the way, we conquer some obstacles, avoid others, and inevitably fall to those that outmatch us. There’s little value in keeping score. Life does its best, evolving continuously, regardless of the challenges it faces.

The Human Tendency to Complicate Life

Yet, we humans have an extraordinary ability to complicate even the simplest processes. This tendency arises from our belief that we know better—that there’s always a nicer place, a better relationship, or a more lucrative position awaiting us. We cling to grand ideas that often bear little connection to reality. In our pursuit of fantasies, we end up stepping on each other’s toes, competing for ever-narrowing spaces. Siblings compete with each other, children with their parents, and families with their neighbors. This relentless competition drives our children to Yale, whether or not they even wanted to attend college.

Home: The Seat of Our Wounds

Ideally, home should be a sanctuary—a place to rest and recover. However, in many cases, the wounds we carry within our families prevent us from truly settling into ourselves. Home, where our deepest wounds reside, becomes a reflection of the heart, the core of our body-mind system. These wounds of the heart, in turn, project onto every aspect of our lives.

Personal Boundaries and Connection

Each of us carries an internal “hula hoop” that creates space around the tender parts of our being—those areas shaped during our vulnerable, early years. For some, especially those who have faced significant trauma, this protective boundary becomes rigid, making it difficult to connect with others. Yet, despite these defenses, we all long to connect on a deep, human level.

As we open our hearts to others, we risk re-experiencing past pain. The process of pulling inward for self-care and then extending outward to connect with others is essential for growth. Reaching out is vital because it allows us to learn about the world around us. However, those who experienced significant trauma in childhood may struggle to form connections and attachments.

The Role of Intimacy in Breaking Boundaries

Intimate experiences, such as orgasms, allow us to move beyond our personal boundaries and connect deeply with another person. Although these moments may seem complex or elusive, they serve a biological purpose: bonding couples for more effective child-rearing. The connection felt during such intimate moments transcends ordinary life, allowing someone to bypass our defenses and access our innermost selves. This deep bond makes separation particularly painful, as the intimacy once shared becomes public, leaving us exposed.

The Importance of Early Attachment

Childbirth and early child-rearing are other profound examples of moving past boundaries. If a child is not nurtured correctly in the early stages, they may face lifelong attachment issues. When the bond between parent and child is weak or strained by external pressures, the child may struggle to form attachments later in life. While some philosophies view attachment as problematic altogether, I feel it more practical to accept and examine our attachments to understand how they may be limiting our growth and how we might move beyond those limitations.

Challenges in Settling and Relaxing

When there are problems at the root level of our being, it’s like living in a building with a chipped cornerstone—settling and relaxing into life becomes challenging. These “cracks” in our root chakra can keep us energetically unsettled, always searching and shifting. However, by repeatedly returning to the present moment, we can become more familiar and even friendly with our difficulties, eventually finding the means to relax into ourselves.

Family Relationships: A Special Challenge

Family relationships are particularly challenging because they are unavoidable and deeply rooted in our circumstances. If we choose to maintain these profound connections, we must be willing to confront individuals who can bypass our defenses before we even realize it. This sensitivity can make us feel judged, threatened, or even loved before any words or gestures are exchanged. For instance, after a conflict, walking into a room with that person can feel like stepping into a minefield, as we are already on guard, ready to defend ourselves.

Deepening Self-Understanding

These situations offer an opportunity to explore our defensive mechanisms and begin to unpack our reflexive ways of dealing with the world. Lashing out before understanding the situation is not mindful. A wise friend once said, “What other people think is none of my business.” The point is that we often speculate about others’ thoughts and judgments, which may not even be accurate. Instead, it might be simpler and more effective to keep interactions civil and surface-level, allowing our deeper emotional connections to change naturally.

The Power of Non-Verbal Communication

A lot can be communicated through a smile, a touch on the shoulder, or simply being present with another person. Receptive presence is a technique used in animal care. The attendant simply sits near the frightened animal until shows signs of relaxation and receptivity. It works for people animals as well. Simple gestures of contact can open the energy between people, restoring intimacy without the need for words.

Retaining Connection in the Face of Challenges

With the many challenges to intimacy, it is of major importance to retain our connection to those with whom we are deeply bound. It is often said that our family is our spiritual path. Some believe there is no accident that we find ourselves in the specific family to which we are bound. These karmic connections are challenging, because we grew up with family members that have had access to our  most intimate being. This opens many flashpoints that can be challenging to navigate. Once we are triggered, it is crucial to look at ourselves before we react.  We might ask what we can learn before we anticipate others judgement of us, or place blame on another. When it hurts we might look inward, because we are the working basis of our liberation and we are the only factor we can effectively change. “What do I need right now? How can I effectively express my needs?” This is how we learn about ourselves.

I love my family very deeply, although all of us have shared our woundedness, our reactions, and our difficulties as we have grown. There have been unskillful attempts at communication, and there have been breakthroughs into heart connection. The breakthroughs came as we were able to work past 0ur defenses. And I believe each of us has learned profound lessons through these connections.

The heart of our being lies within its protective layering.  Understanding the language of the heart requires the bravery to feel pain and to recognize that suffering as our own, and to own our own pain.

 

 

—————-

I met one of my favorite authors at his book signing. I asked if he was happy with the book. He said he would have completed it much sooner had he been less important to himself. He offered a wry smile. It felt like he was telling me something about myself.

I have always been important to myself. I carry self significance around like a weight. It precedes me everywhere. I remember seeing Sam Kinison on stage. The crowd erupted in anticipation before he even walked out. I wanted that power, the kind that announces itself and demands its place. The kind that seems overbearing to others, yet feels like a minimum level of self-protection to me.

Once, I was hired to tell jokes at a party.  The host, our benefactor, nodded and smiled but never laughed. At the end of the night, when he paid me, I asked him why he never laughed at my jokes. He said, “Because I feel like you’re forcing me to.” It hit me. My need to coerce people for my validation was pretty narcissistic. We all have ego. We place ourselves at the center. Some of us close ourselves off completely to feedback, creating an impenetrable wall. We protect ourselves from a safe distance, all the while suffering crushing doubt and loneliness inside the performative fortress.

This is a description of my style of ego. Your mileage may vary. But we all try and control our lives from an insulated booth removed from everything else. We all have our style and we are all generally trapped there. It is said that ego is like a general that becomes more powerful than the king.  In an ironic reversal, the king now serves the general. Ego is a like defensive blister on the self that becomes inflamed anger or is threatened. The self is semi-permeable, allowing communication. Ego, however, tries to control everything to protect the self.  Some people bruise their environment, like I did. Others pull inward, making everyone come to them. Some are late, making others wait. Some are generous, marking their good deeds. These are styles of imprisonment. The tools we use to defend ourselves become our prison guards.

We diminish our hearts. We cut ourselves off from sustenance. We compete with everything, seeking protection and power. We become like a government under martial law, curtailing information, stopping openness, becoming vicious little creatures who see what they believe. Each of us has a style, but all are controlling and because of that ego is limiting. The surest way to control life is to reduce life to a manageable size.

Ego is ignorant of itself. It protects our self-awareness by demanding control. This sets up massive expectations without us even knowing what or why.  Sometimes, I can’t get out of bed. Many have felt that. My version was embarrassment for not living up to the outsized expectations my ego set. I was too important to myself to be myself. I had to be larger or smaller than life.

The antidote to this neurosis is awareness. With meditation practice we grow our awareness and begin to see the defensive patterns that limit us. We live in extremes to avoid seeing ourselves. Like a black hole, we can’t see the ego directly, but we see its effects. Hurt people hurt people. We inflate when hurt, trying to become bigger. Or deflate when threatened, trying to be invisible

But ego isn’t the problem; cherishing the self is. Protecting, building, and cherishing the self creates pain. Meditation helps us see clearly, without judgment. We see how we hurt others and ourselves, how we limit ourselves. We develop mindfulness—awareness of body, life force, life itself, and emotions. We start to unpack the ego net that has ensnared us, making us it’s puppet.