Fierce Compassion

         We need a powerful response to what’s happening in the USA.  I feel anger, outrage, dread.  I honor those feelings, and I know that truly powerful responses – responses that heal and re-align our nation - must be based in love.  I feel the tug between my fearful outrage and my commitment to peace and love.  I search for a path forward.

         A recent post by Dr. Kristin Neff, author of Self-Compassion, points to a way – fierce compassion.  “Compassion is aimed at the alleviation of suffering – that of others or ourselves – and can be ferocious as well as tender.”  “We need love in our hearts so we don’t perpetuate a cycle of anger and hate, but we need fierceness so that we don’t let things continue on their current harmful path.”

         She describes fierce compassion as a balance of Yin and Yang energies.  Yin is more inward and receptive.  It offers comfort and nurture to self and others.  Yang focuses outward with a clarity and resolve that helps us take constructive action in the world. 

         Fierce compassion invites us to be contemplative activists, peaceful warriors – respectful, empathic and thoughtful, steadfast, courageous and outspoken.  Fierce compassion calls us to wholeness and wholeheartedness.

Self-Companionship

         Central to the work I do with myself and others is the question: How do we treat ourselves?  In particular, how do we relate to our painful/uncomfortable feelings and sensations?  How do we treat the body when it’s in pain?  How do we respond to ourselves when we’re feeling hurt, sad, angry, fearful, embarrassed, ashamed?

         I see these experiences as opportunities to build deeper friendship with ourselves. 

         Instead of rejecting my body when it’s in pain, I can say: “thanks for letting me know” or “how can I help?”  I can send kindness and love to whatever hurts.  I can thank the body for all it’s done for me over the years.  I can note, with gratitude, the parts of me that aren’t in pain. 

         We can take a similar, friendly approach to our feelings.  Take anger, for instance.  It often functions as a signal that something is hurting or scaring us.   It points to our vulnerability – the need for care or protection for ourselves or others.  Rather than ignore the feeling, squash it or treat it as a problem, we can listen more deeply to what it needs.  We can accompany the feeling part of us from a caring and wise grown-up stance.  “Thanks for letting me know.  We’re in this together.  I’ll stick by you.  Let’s figure out what you need.  I’ll handle the details.”

         The feeling part of us is a younger part – a younger self.  It’s very good at energizing us and letting us know when something’s not right.  However, it often needs our help to identify what is needed.   And it definitely needs our help/leadership in actually going about getting what is needed.  Sometimes, action is needed to effect change “out there”.  Sometimes, comfort and nurture is needed “in here”.

         We don’t give the younger self the keys to the car.  To do so is an act of abandonment.  The feeling self is too young to navigate life’s challenges alone.

         From the stance of the large self - older, wiser and loving - we honor the body and our feeling nature.  We partner with these aspects of ourselves.  We offer them companionship and care.

         I’ve been meditating lately on the thought that we are all part of an enormous, beautiful tapestry – interwoven with each other and with all that exists.  Each of us is a strand in the tapestry.  The Divine Presence is woven within us and between us – such that we are inseparable from God and from each other.  From this perspective, God is unavoidable.  Everywhere we look, there God is.

         As I poked through previous writings, looking unsuccessfully for a reference, I stumbled across this piece, written many years ago.  At the time, I called it a mystery story.  It, too, emerged from a series of meditations.

God Consciousness

       In the beginning, there was no thing.  Only sacred emptiness, a profound, fertile, eternal, intelligent, creative silence – God, a name we give to the nameless.

       Suddenly, the Silence expressed itself in an amazing blossoming of love – hot love, intense love, sublime love, messy love – unbelievably creative and destructive.  Were there anyone to observe it, the blossoming would have seemed totally chaotic.  We now know it to be an expression with an underlying order and intelligence.

       In this story, the first expression of God is love. The next expression, as blossoming cooled, is light.  With ever more cooling comes density.  The material world forms.  It, too, is spoken.  Every star, planet, mountain, sea, rock, tree, insect, turtle, fish, bird, mammal, and each of us is a word in the vocabulary of God. 

       Everything – love, light, matter – is an expression of God.  Every interaction is an interaction with God.  When we hold a rock, behold a sunset, touch a leaf, break bread, sip wine, caress a lover, laugh with a child or look in a mirror, we are communing with God. 

       Human consciousness allows us to re-trace the movements of divine expression, to move closer to Source.  We all are familiar with the density of the material world, including the density of the human personality, which can be quite goofy.  We all know about living in this realm. 

       Many of us are learning how to spiritually soften, to raise our vibrations.  We remember that we are also light.  As we continue to lighten – enlighten, perhaps – we remember that we are love.

       And sometimes, sojourning into silence, we enter the deepest mystery of God consciousness, the wordless apprehension that, along with everything else we are – goofiness, density, light, love – we are God.  All is God.

      Imagine the impact on this planet if we brought God consciousness to all our relationships – with ourselves, with each other, with plants and animals, with water and dirt and all of Mother Earth. 

       Imagine the peace.  Imagine the reverence.  Imagine the joy.

How Good Can I Stand It?

         Brene Brown speaks about a natural discomfort we have with joy.  Anticipating its demise, we hold back from experiencing its fullness.  We’re nervous, also, because many of us live with a happiness ceiling - a threshold learned early in life that limits our capacity for happiness and joy. 

         As life becomes richer for me, I am noticing that ceiling - an inner pushback to the happiness that is growing within me.  The noticing is a gift.  It leads me toward healing practices. 

         I breathe deeply into the uneasiness I feel in my belly.  I speak gently to myself – acknowledging the threshold and its anxious warning, reminding myself that it’s just a carry over from old protective strategies, no longer relevant.  Ever more clearly, I see this discomfort an indicator of growth, not danger.  I soften and smile and welcome my movement into new territory.  It’s delicious stretch. 

         The challenging question, now, is not how much adversity and suffering can I handle, but rather, how much happiness, joy, peace, contentment and gratitude can I make room for.   

         How good can I stand it? 

Shortly after awakening this morning, I opened an old folder and found this poem.  It spoke to me – joyfully - of marvelous awakening.

Last Night as I Was Sleeping

Author: Antonio Machado

Translator: Robert Bly

        Last night as I was sleeping,

                  I dreamt – marvelous error! –

                  that a spring was breaking

                  out in my heart. 

                  I said: Along which secret aqueduct,

                  Oh water, are you coming to me,

                  water of new life

                  that I have never drunk?

                  Last night as I was sleeping,

                  I dreamt – marvelous error! –

                  that I had a beehive

                  here inside my heart.

                  And the golden bees   

                  were making white combs

                  and sweet honey

                  from my old failures.

                  Last night as I was sleeping,

                  I dreamt – marvelous error! –

                  that a fiery sun was giving

                  light inside my heart.

                  It was fiery because I felt

                  warmth as from a hearth,

                  and sun because it gave light

                  and brought tears to my eyes.

                  Last night as I slept,

                  I dreamt – marvelous error! –

                  that it was God I had

                  here inside my heart.

Two Conversations

         I’ve been waking the last few mornings to my inner jukebox playing a song by America, I Need You – “like the flower needs the rain … like the winter needs the spring, I need you.”  When a song repeats like that, I listen up.  While there may be other layers of meaning, this morning I heard the song as my younger feeling-self (Jimbo) appealing to the older, wiser, loving inner adult (Big James).  I heard the invitation to remember their connection and re-affirm their partnership in loving this world - a deepening development within me.

         The appeal reminds me how easy it is to slip back into the old pattern of another conversation – a louder, harsher conversation – that takes place many times a day between a voice I call the inner judge and Jimbo.  The judge, a well-practiced but immature presence with a big megaphone, uses withering criticisms and dire predictions to invite Jimbo to feel ashamed and afraid.   Drawing from a large library of mistakes I’ve made over the years, the judge comments on every imperfection and tends to define my younger self in terms of those mistakes and imperfections.

         On the other hand, conversation between Big James and Jimbo is gentle, nurturing, playful and sometimes wordless – inviting self-acceptance, self-compassion, creativity, vitality and courage.  This conversation combines Jimbo’s vitality and Big James’ wise nurture and calls forth my best, strongest and most loving presence on this planet. 

         Observing these two conversations is a VAST SELF within me, quietly witnessing – holding in loving spaciousness every aspect of who I am, every voice within.  Mindfulness practices, which deepen connection with the quiet witness, help me see the nature of, and feel the impact of, the two conversations.  With awareness comes choice.  I get to choose which conversation I want to give my time and attention, which I want to nurture and feed.  Even when the judge puffs himself up, loudly demanding the inner microphone and provoking me mightily, I still get to choose whether or not to engage.

         Once I pay attention – and keep paying attention - the life-affirming choice is clear.  And once I’m clear, I can stand firm in my “yes” to one conversation and my “no thanks” to the other.

Let’s Love Together

         For years I’ve worked at opening to the flow of love.  I see universal love as an unlimited, inexhaustible resource, readily available and ready to overflow in my relational life – which it does quite naturally in my professional work, in my parenting and in most of my friendships. 

         Historically, this flow has not been so natural in my most intimate and vulnerable relationships, where fear, hunger and self-preoccupation invite a sense of scarcity and a tendency to over-think and over-work.  I’ve tended to attribute this awkwardness to a younger version of myself, whose early life experience makes understandable some skittishness in this area. 

         In recent years, I’ve tried to by-pass the boy – pushing him into the shadows, hoping to keep my inner grown-up in charge.  Frequently, to my dismay, the by-passed boy found a way to by-pass me and grab the keys to my relational car.  He’s a good kid, but not a great driver.

         Last week, grace came my way in the form of a wonderful, transformational healing retreat, Choose Love, led by Richard Moss, whose approach recognizes that healing and growth need to be integrated into the body and the heart.  Thinking alone cannot move us forward in substantial ways.  So, in addition to some cognitive work, we danced and sang and moved our bodies in expressive ways that led to a deeply felt sense of the contrast between the closed/contracted heart and the soft/open heart.

         In one exercise, we danced for well over an hour to varied, evocative and powerful pieces of music.  Somewhere near the end, I pictured my four-year-old self (Jimbo), whose photo sits on my desk, smiling at me as I write.  From a spaciousness opened by the music and movement, I felt drawn to dance with Jimbo.  And we did so for a good 10 or 15 minutes.  I held him close, then closer, and then experienced a merging with him.  I said to Jimbo: “Let’s love together.”

         Theoretically, I’ve known for years about the importance of connecting with the inner child.  This experience, however, was beyond theory.  It was visceral and embodied.  The youngster - embraced and held and welcomed - was not hungry.  He was not left alone to fend for himself.  He was partnered with Big James, the wise, spacious, grown-up elder who resides within.  In that moment of grace, love no longer seemed scarce or dangerous.  It flowed freely from fullness – accompanied by joyful tears.

         The embodied union of Big James and Jimbo keeps Jimbo emotionally safe and James vibrantly alive.  It integrates wisdom and vitality – two qualities necessary for loving connection – qualities more available to me now.

         While I can’t predict how this will play out in my life, I do believe that love inside leads to love outside and that inner partnership paves the way for outer partnerships.  Witnessing inward with mindful awareness opens a spaciousness that makes room for what’s young and what’s ancient in my being.  In that spaciousness, there’s room for all of I and all of Thou. 

         I find it easier now to feel the difference between when I’m connected and when I’ve slipped into an old pattern of separation.  And, thankfully, when I do disconnect, I now have a way back – an embodied memory that anchors me in partnership and presence. 

         I also have a mantra:  Let’s love together.

Human Meets Divine

         I’ve been planning to share a passage or two from a book by Lorin Roche, The Radiance Sutras, a poetic and contemporary translation/interpretation of Vijnana Bhairava Tantra – a sacred Hindu text of tantric meditations, honoring human sensory and sensual experience as a doorway to divine connection.  I’ve been touched deeply by the power and beauty of so many of the Sutras and have been puzzling about which to share with you.

         Last night, I hosted a fondue dinner for a small group of dear old friends.  Our meal lasted nearly 6 hours.  With fondue forks in hand, we speared morsels of meat and various vegetables, cooked them in pots of boiling aromatic vegetable broth and dipped them in one of several spicy, flavorful sauces. 

         The leisurely pace of the fondue meal allowed us time to savor the fragrances and flavors and textures of each bite and to enjoy the laughter and lively conversation that peppered our main course, sweetened our dessert and energized the time in between.  Dessert featured a warm, candle-heated, creamy, dark chocolate fondue sauce, in which we dipped strawberries and bananas - and which, as the evening ended, we spooned over Haagen-Dazs vanilla ice cream.

         Remembering last night’s delights and re-reading the Sutras today made my decision much easier.  Here are Sutras 72, 73 and 74.

                           Sutra 72

         Tasting dark chocolate,

         A ripe apricot,

         A luscious elixir –

         Savor the expanding joy in your body.

         Nature is offering herself to you.

         How astonishing

         To realize this world can taste so good.

         When sipping some ambrosia,

         Raise your glass,

         Close your eyes,

         Toast the Universe.

         The Sun and Moon and Earth

         Danced together

         To bring you this delight.

         Receive the nectar on your tongue

         As a kiss of the divine.

                           Sutra 73

         All around you, in every moment,

         The world is offering a feast for your senses.

         Songs are playing,

         Tasty food is on the table,

         Fragrances are in the air,

         Colors fill the eyes with light.

         You who long for union,

         Attend this banquet with loving focus.

         The outer and inner worlds

         Open to each other.

         Oneness of vision, oneness of heart.

         Right here, in the midst of it all,

         Mount that elation, ascend with it,

         Become identical

         With ecstatic essence

         Embracing both worlds.

                           Sutra 74

         Wherever, whenever you feel carried away,

         Rejoicing in every breath,

         There, there is your meditation hall.

         Cherish these times of absorption –

         Rocking the baby in the silence of the night,

         Pouring water into a crystal glass,

         Tending the logs in a crackling fire,

         Sharing a meal with a circle of friends.

         Embrace these pleasures and know,

         “This is my true body.”

         Nowhere is more holy than this.

         Right here is the sacred pilgrimage.

         Live in alertness for such a moment, my Beloved,

         As if it were your one meeting with the Creator.

Embodied, present, here, now – human meets divine!

The Vitality of Mindful Presence

         I recently finished an extraordinary certificate training in mindfulness.  I needed the CEU’s, I needed the break, and I needed a few days of meditative practice in a beautiful setting with delicious, healthy food and like-minded folk – all of which I got.  What I did not anticipate were the powerful learnings that awaited me.  Here are two related ones.

         By way of background, I’ve known for some time that being embodied in the present moment is a good thing.  For me, embodiment has been a work in progress.  I tend to hang out in my head, often caught up in imaginary conversations, past regrets and future frets.

         Late into the retreat, we had a day of silence – which I approached with the general intention to stay present and no specific plans for how to do so.  At breakfast, I found myself staring at my bowl of food for several minutes before taking a bite. The textures and colors of the granola, berries and yogurt seemed unusually vibrant.  The first mouthful, slowly and deliberately taken, exploded in a burst of flavor as I bit into it.

         Lunch was a similar experience, but even more profound.  Again, I was amazed and mesmerized by the beauty on my plate – the lush and varied greens of lettuce leaves, sauteed asparagus and poblano peppers, the soft browns of the pinto beans, the fragrant basmati rice, the many hues and shades in the generous dollop of guacamole, the topping of pumpkin seeds – each seed uniquely sized and shaped, each subtly different in color.  Across from my big plate, was a smaller dish with one giant, ripe organic strawberry dipped in dark chocolate and garnished with a delicate drizzle of bright white sweetness. 

         Despite my watering mouth, I was in no hurry to start eating.  At that moment, the feast was primarily visual.  Mind empty, I sat transfixed for many minutes before taking a first bite.  Each forkful was slow and deliberate, with long pauses in between, as all my senses savored the delights before me.

         One lesson for me in all this was the “wow” of focused and spacious attention.  The power of my surrender to full engagement was much stronger than similar experiences in the past.  I felt joyful and alive and serene. 

         The second, more powerful lesson came with the shift that occurred – maybe 45 minutes into lunch when my plate was still half full.  I became aware that I’d left the present moment.  I was still gazing at my food, but my mind was elsewhere, engaged in an imaginary conversation.  That’s when I noticed that the vivid colors on my plate were noticeably duller, dimmer, more drab.  During the rest of my meal, vibrant intensity returned with mindful presence and departed when mind wandered. 

         What a difference!  The knowing that had been theoretical suddenly became very real for me.  The connection between mindful presence and vitality of life had never been clearer.

Discomfort Dread

      I’ve noticed, in myself and in my clients, a tendency to treat uncomfortable feelings as if they were a threat or a problem that needs to be fixed – a sign that somehow we’re spiritually lacking or flunking mental health.  We get adversarial with ourselves – moving automatically toward analysis of “what’s wrong,” in an effort to defeat “the problem” and control how we feel.

         I wonder about a gentler, more spacious, more peaceful approach to our inner discomfort - an alternative to the tyranny of self-improvement.

         I wonder about offering companionship and a compassionate heart – and not so much analysis and judgment – to our experience of discomfort. 

         I imagine honoring the feeling - maybe saying:  “Thanks for letting me know.” 

         I imagine noticing how the feeling is expressed by tightness or discomfort in the body.  I imagine breathing gently into those physical sensations – sending nurture, kindness, forgiveness, light. 

         I imagine listening more deeply to the feeling, appreciating its underlying request.

         I imagine remembering that no feeling is permanent, that the natural course of all feelings is to move freely through us.  

         Often, we fail to bring this kind of spaciousness to ourselves.  We disregard our feelings or we tighten down on them or get caught up in stories about them or fight with them or try to push them away – all of which only adds to their stubbornness and our suffering.  And all these sufferings, when mindfully noticed, offer new opportunities to practice self-forgiveness and self-compassion.

         With practice over time, we learn that no inner experience is beyond our capacity for compassion and companionship.  We deepen friendship with ourselves - and trust.  We discover an inner spaciousness that is larger than any feeling or any problem we could have.   

         Discomfort, then, is not so dreaded.