Category: Writing

Landing Back to Earth

Walking the emotional gauntlet of the holiday season is challenging. The holidays are often described as loving and warm, but it can also feel cold and threatening.

Incidents of familial violence and self-harm spike during this time.  Perhaps we try hard to please those we love. Maybe we get caught up in competition over how much we can give. Or perhaps we feel anxious about our financial security and our ability to be generous and offer ourselves to others. Maybe we fall into the trap of need, looking with avarice at all the shining bobbles. Even when we have much for which to feel grateful, sometimes home is where the hurt is.

What does it mean to come home for the holidays when we don’t feel safe at home at any time. And maybe if we don’t feel safe at home, we never feel safe anywhere.  What does it mean to offer kindness and love to others when we don’t feel those things for ourselves? We often create more hardship by failing to include ourselves in the love we want to extend. How I feel about myself is no one’s fault. It is, however, my responsibility. How I feel about myself reflects how I feel about the life I live, the world I inhabit, the home I create and the love I extend to others.

Traditional Buddhism teaches about 6 realms of existence from hell to God realms. Yet, the human realm is said to be the most rewarding and the most challenging as humans have the ability to achieve and realize so much and yet that very possibility gives us a sense of unease, expectation, and demand.  because we see the possibility, we believe our lives should be bigger, grander, and better. Buddha suggested that the root of our suffering lies in non-acceptance of what our life actually is. And acceptance of our life begins with acceptance of ourselves.

It is not selfish to care for ourselves, especially when this enables us to care for others. Yet, caring for ourselves is not mindlessly grasping for everything we think we want. Because the more we want, the more we need. It’s as though the universe only understands verbs. We pray, “I want this” and “I want that”, but the universe only hears “want, want, want.” So, it sends us more wanting. And the more we want, the less we feel we have. As we cling to the ephemeral, we end up judging life by what we don’t have.

Yet, despite whatever it is we want today, humans need peace, comfort, and kindness everyday. This sustenance may be closer than we realize. But it cannot be realized through grasping, competition, coveting or creating internal pressure around what we think others think. Those ploys only leave us bereft. If I believe that I am worthless—or less worthy than anyone else—then what value can I offer to others? I can only offer my need. “You didn’t call me back”, “you didn’t get my joke”, “You don’t get me.” , “Goddamnit, does anyone get me?” No one gets anyone as their too busy trying to get for themselves. No one wants to prop us up indefinitely. While some may be willing to try, no one is comfortable with the feeling of indebtedness that comes from holding us together. And it does us no good.

But maybe we can find a way to hold ourselves together.

This holiday season, instead of looking to external sources to fill our needs, perhaps we could begin by turning inward.  My mother, after being divorced by my father, lived a very modest life. She often lived with others in places that were never truly her own. At one point, we were roommates in a beautiful little home on a river in Colorado, but it was never truly hers. Eventually, she found a humble home behind the most popular bar in town, where drunks stumbled around at night to the sounds of country blues and fist fights.

Despite this, she made that small place her home, furnishing it with second-hand furniture and Walmart discount items. Her heart, her acceptance of others, and her warmth filled that little home. Anyone was welcome. And I dragged some characters through. People would visit—many of whom had greater means than she — and would leave feeling enriched. Even when space was tight, she would welcome everyone, “As long as there’s floor space.” At times, the house was so crowded with animals, guests, and family that it was hard to find that floor space. Yet, no matter how uncomfortable everyone felt comfortable.  Over the years, people kept coming back to her home because they felt the love.

Certainly, there have been grander expressions of love throughout history: Helen of Troy, whose face launched a thousand ships; Poe’s dark yearning for his Annabel Lee; F. Scott’s stumbling drunken pursuit of Zelda. Juliette and her Romeo. But sometimes, it’s the quiet moments of affection—a drooling cat kneading biscuits on your chest—that are the most healing. But, it’s not the cat that heals us. It is the power of our affection and connection to our heart. That is how we create a home no matter where we are. It’s not the cat’s responsibility; it’s ours. We have the power to heal ourselves through kindness and affection. Then we can welcome others.

When the Buddha attained enlightenment his profound sense of peace drew others to him. After years of searching and training, the Buddha finally sat down, exhausted, and gave up all concepts, all material desires, and all yearning. When everything settled, he connected to the earth and found profound enlightenment. His contentment was radiant and animals and people alike were drawn to his peace. When asked who he was, he simply replied, “I am awake.” A skeptic asked how he could prove this.  Buddha simply touched the earth.  “The earth is my witness, ” he said.

In this moment, right here and now, we can be at home. In this moment, right here and now, we can welcome our world. In this very moment, we can drop the anxiety of wanting more and find peace in who we are.

+++

Gaining Mastery Over Our Suffering: the Courage to Face Our Pain

I would like to address rising up and facing our pain as a way of navigating a life of turmoil and challenge. This is not to over dramatize life’s difficulties or to define ourselves by pain. Rather, by facing what is truly happening, we can minimize the suffering in order to work with the pain.

Therefore, distinguishing pain from suffering is key. It is said that pain is inevitable, while suffering is optional. Pain may accompany growth or even be necessary for it. Working through pain brings physical strength and emotional maturity. However, our interpretation of pain often complicates our view and tension amplifies it into suffering. We take pain personally, becoming entangled in hypotheticals, judgment, and resentment. Instead of meeting pain, as it is, in order to work with it, we struggle against it, giving it power over us. This creates great Suffering. Yet, since suffering is optional, it can be addressed and reduced.

The point isn’t to get rid of the pain. The point is to reduce the suffering we create, so we can address the pain. As we age, when our back hurts its natural and not aimed at us personally. Yet thoughts of how we hate aging, fears of what might come or how we might need to change what is happening and how the government might be implicated in any of it are not helpful. I have found that when I experience back pain, I reflexively curl away from it contorting my body into an unhealthy shape. This supports the disability and promotes a mindset of suffering. Instead of running away from the pain, I’ve learned to lean in to it remembering to breathe and gently ease up past the pain, into my best posture. This is not about pushing into the pain in damaging and dangerous ways. It’s about feeling into it and gently moving past it to a posture of authority. This actually helps diminish the pain and release the suffering we create because of it.  I have found that gentle persistence toward regaining somatic authority is possible. I don’t have to be owned by my pain. I can learn to live with it, and even learn from it.  And in this way, I can limit the suffering I create in frustration of the inevitable. Frustration is an easy out when we’re in pain, but it is not helpful to healing. Kindness, ease and awareness are essential for us to support ourselves.

But this talk is not about back pain. This talk is also about our mental and emotional health and how with meditation we are retraining the mind away from reflexive reactions so we have a way of working with pain that allows us to gain mastery over suffering. The title of this talk is “Sit Down and Rise Up.” Or, maybe “Rise Up and Sit Down” depending on its whim. By sitting down and connecting to the earth, we ground ourselves in the present. With practice, we grow comfortable with our own presence and begin to connect to our innate dignity, confidence, and well-being. Rising up in a gently uplifted posture lengthens the spine, creating space for tension to release and openness to dawn. With practice we become confident with openness. Openness, in turn, engenders more confidence in not just our spirit, but our body. With practice we become familiar with the warrior’s seat, and are able to return to it.

Our body and mind are sometimes in cahoots with suffering. The mind might attach to a darkness and the body might tighten in reaction. For instance, defensiveness often triggers a somatic constriction, arrogance has its puffed up posture, and depression is a collapse of body and mind. These physical and mental reactions to fear happen so quickly they feel inevitable. We assume it’s natural to collapse when sad, shiver when cold, or tense up when threatened. But these responses do not protect us, in fact they often amplify the pain, or support the disfunction causing it. Ironically, the tension we instinctively adopt when we feel threatened is entirely counterproductive. Tension reduces the body’s ability to respond and it clouds the mind. No martial arts teacher trains students to be tense, frightened, or defensive. Instead, they are trained to be relaxed and open, ready to respond to what is happening. In life, what is happening is not always what we think. The only reliable defense to an unpredictable world is to pay attention. And paying attention requires relaxation and confidence.

Training the mind to pause when threatened and turn its attention to the body allows us awareness in the present. And, if a threat is real, awareness is our best defence. Therefor the base point of this journey is a relaxed body, open heart, and clear mind. With meditation practice, we repeatedly return to this base point with the breath, teaching our body, emotions, and mind to learn to return to our base point in real-life situations. This posture becomes our command position, where we see more clearly and face challenges with calm strength.

Seeing clearly requires moving beyond judgment-based biases, which are often projections of past wounds. Judgment is a reflexive defense that distances us from the present, limiting clarity and effective action. Instead, we synchronize the mind with the body, breathing through fear until we can assess the situation clearly. Assessment, unlike judgment, is simple and self-reflective. It acknowledges fear without blame and responds thoughtfully.

This principle is critical for martial artists, who remain present and open rather than reactive. In contrast, action movies often glorify revenge or hatred as motivation, creating a satisfying but false narrative. Real strength lies in remaining open and responsive, not closed off by anger or fear.

For example, Muhammad Ali trained himself to relax and release tension when struck by an opponent, by famously using the “rope-a-dope” strategy. By leaning back on the ropes, dancing and smiling, not only replenished his energy, but seriously disheartened his opponents. When balanced, he faced the moment rather than retreating, demonstrating mastery over both his body and mind.

Rising up to meet the moment—rather than defeating or escaping it—is a better way to defend ourselves and face life’s challenges. This openness, practiced over time, resonates with even the most fearful parts of our minds. Meeting obstacles with awareness, we align the body, mind, and spirit to face the outer and inner challenges of life. Even adopting an upright posture for two minutes can produce confidence-enhancing hormones, reinforcing our sense of agency over a situation.

Once we learn to rise to pain, we no longer allow fear, anger, or pain to cower us. This reduces suffering, confusion, and mental conflict. It’s as though we rise up and shake off the baggage we once thought was protecting us. Sitting down to rise up is the warrior’s proclamation—a way to cultivate gentleness toward ourselves, which translates into effectiveness in the world.

Living fearlessly does not mean living without fear. True fearlessness is the ability to look at fear and see it as an ally.

The Heartbreak Clash

Lord Gampopa, a seminal figure in Tibetan Buddhism, taught that we are the “working basis” of our liberation. In other words, who we are—our body, mind, spirit, work, life, and relationships—holds all the information we need for our freedom. We don’t have to look beyond ourselves. The key is to look beneath the surface turmoil and learn from what’s right in front of us. This requires taking things less personally and seeing the path as a practical, step-by-step process, not some distant cosmic reach. Maybe the cosmic is right here, right now.

On the flip side, sometimes we place so much pressure on the present moment that we take it too personally, making things harder for ourselves and others. The present is just a blip in our flow—we meet the moment and move on. But when we hit a snag, it can occupy much more of our time and energy than is helpful. If we could retrain our minds to notice and let go, we might see difficulties as opportunities to learn who we are and how we behave, freeing ourselves from the habitual patterns that keep us stuck.

The cocoon we build around ourselves is meant to protect us, and we cling to it tightly. We begin to believe that this reductive state is who we are, and proclaim, “No one knows me,” as we search for someone who will “get” us. But do we even understand ourselves? Maybe the person we think is misunderstanding us could reveal something new about who we are.

Conflict often arises when we cling to our defenses. This is not to say defenses are inherently wrong or unhelpful, but when we identify with them, we mistake them for ourselves. Since defenses are only partial aspects of who we are, identifying with them limits our lives. Over time, we start feeling claustrophobic and dissatisfied, wanting to break free of those limiting beliefs. The easy way out is to blame others: “This is toxic, I have to leave!” But that often leads to the next entanglement, where we replay old traumas. The goal of the Buddhist path is to help us see beyond these patterns, gently recognizing them as limitations.

Each time we notice the mind clinging, grasping, or fixating, and acknowledge it, we can let go and return to clarity. This is what meditators call “coming back.” Each time we return, we crack open the cocoon, letting more sunlight in. With practice, we can rest in a state of unclouded clarity, which becomes our foundation. From there, we step into new possibilities, rather than merely repeating the past. When we react out of fear or anxiety, we can only do what we’ve done before. How many times in relationships have we said, “Let’s make a fresh start,” only to end up repeating the same cycle? Without returning to zero, to openness, our next move isn’t truly creative. Acting out of pain or anxiety only reinforces past injuries, carrying them with us into every new situation.

I once dated an astrologer who, after reading our charts, told me we had a rare but perfect astrological conflict called the “heartbreak clash.” It seemed insurmountable, and everything we read suggested it was impossible to overcome. But along with the clash came an undeniable attraction. We felt drawn to the conflict, as if we had to overcome it. “I always go for damaged angels” or “every partner I choose is the wrong one”—maybe we’re all damaged angels, and there’s no such thing as a “wrong” partner. Maybe there are only partners who push the right buttons to unlock parts of us.

I went to another astrologer, a Vajrayana Buddhist practitioner, who, after looking at our chart, said, “Classical astrologers would tell you to get out. But my teacher, Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, would smile and say, ‘I don’t see a problem.'” He beamed at me and continued, “It’s our vow as Vajrayana practitioners to transmute the difficulties in our lives and find the wisdom at their core. This situation is perfect for that.”

Opening to these deep wounds can release enormous energy. We instinctively shy away from this because we don’t want to face what lies beneath. Trauma isn’t just painful; it’s the avoidance of that pain that prolongs it. We cover our wounds, hiding them from the light, and they fester. We flinch at the thought of touching those wounds, carrying them around without acknowledging them. The heartbreak clash offers an opportunity to unlock that puzzle. Imagine stepping through the iron cocoon of your defenses, even if only occasionally, and seeing things in a fresh light. That is love. And love isn’t separate from pain; it exists alongside it. Our focus is the choice we make.

However, love brings our past traumas into the present. At work, in public, or on the street, we can keep our wounds hidden, pretending to be okay. But what does “okay” really mean? Okay according to others’ standards? Or according to what we think others expect of us? And what does “starting over” mean if we haven’t learned the lessons of our past?

Once we cross into love, it opens a whole new dimension. It’s like a friendship evolving into something deeper. As soon as we do, we give the other person access to those dangerous, hidden places we’ve tried to protect. This makes relationships both challenging and invaluable.

But the other person isn’t directly touching our wounds; they’re triggering the defenses we’ve placed around them. More importantly, we’re not seeing our wounds; we’re seeing them through the lens of our defenses. The easy way out is to blame—to fixate on the other person, diverting attention from ourselves. This blocks our ability to learn. Another shortcut is judgment: believing the other person is wrong by some standard. But what does that really mean? By whose standards? Humans notoriously adjust ethical scales to serve their own self-interest. We can quote the Bible, the Buddha, or any law book to justify our point, but all we’re really doing is hiding our fear of what lies beneath.

Erich Fromm, the philosopher and therapist, said that true love occurs when two people are ready for the same thing. Maybe every love teaches us something different about ourselves, until we finally find someone else. Perhaps we failed to see those opportunities because we were focused on the flaws of others. But ultimately, we are the only ones we can change. And we’re often the last ones we want to see. It takes time to be ready to see ourselves. Yet, looking inward is the only way to be truly honest—and honesty is what frees us from our defenses, step by step.

This is the essence of transformation in Vajrayana Buddhism: the power to break free from the chains of our fear, burning them away in the fire of our passion.